


Strange Captivation

by Mixxy



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arranged Marriage, Dream Sex, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Racism, Rimming, Slow Burn, Teen!fic, Valet!Carlos, Wealthy!Cecil, Well kind of Cecil is 17, victorian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:45:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mixxy/pseuds/Mixxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Palmer family is well-bred, moneyed, and respected. The seventeen-year-old heir and only son, Cecil, is even more so. There's very little doubt that he'll marry well and uphold the family name.</p><p>But Cecil has his own concerns. Namely, the strange feelings he gets around his valet, Carlos, or why he gets the funniest urges about the dark-skinned man. And sometimes, when those dark eyes darken even further, Cecil thinks Carlos may understand all too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ink, Christmas, and The Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [ this art ](http://oxytrezart.tumblr.com/post/64987249812/so-after-receiving-this-prompt-for-a-mini-ficlet) by oxytrezart

“Mr. Palmer!”

Cecil’s head jerks back upright from where it had been leaning on his hand, and the pen he was holding in his other hand bumps against the desk and causes a blot of ink on the paper. He inspects the pen and makes a face when he realizes he’s broken the nib. He goes through them so quickly.

“Mr. Palmer, this is the second time today I’ve caught you dozing off.”

“I wasn’t dozing, Mrs. Josie, I was just…ah, thinking about my conjugations.”

The old woman in front of him glares formidably, and he recoils. “Really. Then you wouldn’t mind reciting for me, then?”

“Odi et amo quare id…fa-faciam! Um, Fortasse requiris…then it’s…it starts with- nescio sed fieri sen- ah, sen-” He drops his face to the desk, not caring about the notes currently half-finished and covered with his own imaginative scrawling. “Oh, I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

There’s a _tsk_ ing noise from the woman. “Really, Mr. Palmer, this isn’t that difficult. Most young men have this mastered long before now. You’re seventeen; old enough to be the head of a household. It’s embarrassing that you don’t know this.”

Cecil’s voice drifts up, muffled from where he’s against the desk. “Yes, I am truly embarrassed. Perhaps I should just wallow in my own shame and never look at Latin again.” He lifts his head again, pulling off the parchment where it’s stuck to his cheek. “And why does being the head of a household necessitate the need for Latin, anyway? I won’t need to use it.”

“The world does not need any more uneducated brutes too ignorant to even know they’re ignorant. And by the angels themselves, I will not let you be one.”

“But Mrs. Josieee,” Cecil whines, “it’s so dull, and I have so many other interesting things I can do. I won’t even be married for a long time. I don’t need to learn this.”

“You’ll be married sooner than later, child.”

“But by next week? Next month? Surely not. The future is a strange and mysterious thing, Mrs. Josie. Tomorrow we may both be hit by a carriage, or God himself may reach down and shake the Earth until we are all go flying like so many birds. And while we are flying through the air, will we be thinking, _wow, I’m sure glad I learned Latin_? No, we will be rejoicing in our flight and dreading the inevitable fall and regretting every hour spent learning useless material!”

Josie raises an eyebrow. “I swear you speak just to hear your own voice, Mr. Palmer.”

He pouts like a child, looking up at her with overly sad eyes. She heaves a deep sigh. “You are without a doubt the most useless student I’ve ever taught. I wonder often if there’s even a brain in that head of yours or just more empty space. I pity the woman who will be cursed to marry you and raise your children, and I pray that they are not as thickskulled as you.”

Cecil grins impishly at the tirade. He learned long ago that Josie spews vitriol at the slightest provocation, and that it’s nothing to be worried about. In fact, the time when he needs to be most concerned is when she’s stiffly polite, but her calling him useless and stupid is almost her way of showing affection. “Am I too thickskulled to be blessed with further teaching?”

“Go, you’re done for today. I give up.”

“You’re a dear, Mrs. Josie, you truly are.” He scrambles to grab his books, stuffing his notes unceremoniously into his bag. He’s been crammed behind this desk all morning and is greatly looking forward to being free.

“I expect a perfect recitation upon our next meeting!” Josie calls after him as he disappears around the doorway.

Cecil knows that he should be thankful for his schooling. Most boys his age have been out of school and working for years now, and he’s still got a tutor coming three times a week. It’s just hard to feel thankful when one’s brain is completely rendered useless by recitations and equations.

He stops by the kitchens, snatches an apple while the cook isn’t looking, and continues in a hurry to the east wing. He was let out of lessons early, which means he has about an hour of time to do as he wishes before he’s expected to be anywhere.

Bursting through his bedroom door, he drops his books on his personal desk and flings himself onto his bed. He holds the apple in his mouth as he rummages through the box of books before pulling out a science fiction novel.

The door opens and he looks up, smiling against the apple. “’Orning, ‘Arlos.”

Carlos raises one eyebrow, closing the door behind him. “Good morning, sir. You’re out of lessons early.”

Cecil swallows his bite so that he can speak more clearly. “Mrs. Josie says I’m unteachable. Simply terrible.”

“You sound proud of yourself.”

“Maybe I am. What do I need to learn Latin for anyway? I speak the Queen’s English; I can get along just fine.”

Carlos shakes his head and does not comment on the subject further, which is probably for the best. He’s folding one of Cecil’s jackets when he looks up and pauses. “Sir, are you aware that you have ink on your face?”

“I have what?” Cecil sits up and looks at himself in the mirror, eyes growing wide at the stains of letters trailing across his cheek. The ink must have not been completely dry when he dropped his face into the papers. “Oh, dear.”

“Stay there. I’ll get it.” Carlos vanishes into the bathroom and reappears holding a small bowl and a towel. He sits next to Cecil and takes his chin in his hand, tilting the viscount’s face toward him.

Cecil feels his face heat up and his palms start to sweat. The apple falls next to him and rolls off the bed, unnoticed. Carlos’ fingers are so warm against his skin, and Cecil is sure other people’s hands aren’t usually that warm, and he would think something was wrong if it wasn’t always like this when Carlos touched him. It started when he was fifteen, this strange clenching in his stomach, and hasn’t let up since. It makes him feel vaguely ill, but he finds himself chasing it at the same time.

There’s a wet swipe at Cecil’s cheek as Carlos wipes at it with the towel, now damp with warm water. The hand at his chin grips slightly tighter, holding him in place, and Cecil has to concentrate on keeping his breathing even. He wonders yet again if Carlos has some sort of anesthetic in his cologne, because his scent always makes Cecil feel slightly intoxicated.

He closes his eyes, relaxed by the warm cloth against his face and the strong hands keeping him where he’s supposed to be. Carlos does not hesitate, but keeps rubbing at the stains with rhythmic, constant circles. It’s soothing, Cecil thinks distantly, and when he opens his eyes again he’s nearly face-to-face with Carlos, who must have leaned in so that he could see what he was doing better.

Carlos’ eyes are so deep and so very brown and his hair has a tendency to tumble down and obscure them slightly and Cecil has to fight the urge to brush it back, to run his fingers through it.

Suddenly his own lack of control over the fluttering in his stomach frightens him, and he feels the need to fill the space with conversation. “You don’t know Latin, do you, Carlos? And you manage.”

Carlos’ gaze flicks up to meet Cecil’s own startling blue eyes, and Cecil feels incredibly stupid. “No, I don’t. I stopped going to school when I was eight.”

“Right, that’s when you…when you came here. Did you- when you were young, did you think you were to become a valet? Was that what you wanted?”

There’s a long silence after that, and the weight falls on Cecil’s shoulders. “I’m grateful,” Carlos finally says, “for your family, and for the work. There are far worse places I could have ended up, and I like this job well enough. I’ve been lucky in my life.”

“Yes, but is this what you imagined?”

“I can’t say it was.” The towel is dipped into the bowl of water, spreading ink across the surface, before it comes back up to Cecil’s cheek. “When I was very young, there was a time when I dreamed of becoming a scholar. A chemist, perhaps. Or a botanist.”

“A scientist of your color?” Cecil laughs before he realizes it- the idea is just so _absurd!_ “Why, Carlos, that’s-“ He looks up and Carlos seems darkened, withdrawn, and the easy bonhomie from before has vanished. Cecil panics. “Oh, Carlos, I didn’t mean to poke fun at you, I swear. Honestly, I didn’t mean anything by it.” He’s scared Carlos is mad at him, and that’s an even worse feeling than the butterflies he’s got right now.

Carlos smiles wistfully and rests a hand on his shoulder. “It’s quite alright, Cecil. It was a child’s dream. It is of no more concern to either of us now.”

When Carlos says his name like that- “ _Cecil_ ”, no “Sir” or “Mr. Palmer” or the stiffly formal “My lord”, it makes his heart beat against his ribcage. Cecil isn’t sure whether that’s medically safe or not, but he really wants Carlos to say it again. However, he knows that his valet won’t make the mistake a second time today. When Carlos does slip and call him by his first name, it’s a very rare occurrence. Usually Carlos is the picture of poise and elegance, and it’s a little unfair Cecil flounders so badly trying to attain these qualities while his valet has mastered them completely.

“Carlos,” Cecil says, suddenly feeling very urgent, “do you ever- ever feel like- like maybe you-“

There’s the sound of a bell from down the hall, and Carlos’ head snaps up. “I apologize, sir, but I think I’m needed.” He turns those dark eyes back on Cecil, and for a minute he forgets how to breathe. “Did you have a question before I go?”

The words that were in Cecil’s throat have been constricted, strangled, lost. “No. It’s nothing.”

“Very well, sir.” He stares at Cecil with such intensity that Cecil is sure he’s going to say something significant, before he reaches out and swipes at the corner of Cecil’s mouth with one thumb, and it catches Cecil entirely off guard. “There.” Carlos shows him the last remaining smudge of ink now on his hand. “You’re clean now, sir.”

“Thank you, Carlos.” The older man takes the bowl and cloth and leaves, and Cecil curls and uncurls his hands in the bedspread, trying to make sense of the coil in his stomach.

* * *

 

The Christmas party at the Palmers’ is not to be missed. It always attracts the highest levels of the nouveau riche, as well as those with old money. Cecil’s mother would prefer that they keep out the new- “no breeding at all, it’s tragic,” she’s sighed on more than one occasion- but Cecil’s father is welcoming of all moneyed, recent or no. “What good is wealth if we do not enjoy it, dear? And you know the new types can only benefit by example.”

Cecil is having a nice time chatting with the guests, like he usually does. “You have a gift of words,” his grandmother once told him, and he supposes it’s true. People seem to like to listen to him, at least.

He’s talking to a snappily dressed man named Marcus Vansten when his mother appears at his side, politely requests Cecil’s presence, and leads him away by the arm. “As happy as I am that you’re making friends with Marcus,” she says, nodding every so often at other guests, “we have someone for you to meet.” She stops in front of Cecil’s father, who’s standing with another man and a girl. “Cecil, this is Jonathan Adams and his daughter, Dana.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Cecil says, slightly perplexed as to why he needs to meet them right now, but charming as always.

“Dana is about your age,” Cecil’s father says helpfully. “Very well-read.”

“I keep insisting that she doesn’t need to be,” Dana’s father adds. “In fact, it’s probably better if she didn’t read quite so much. I’m sure that she’ll stop once she’s settled down with a man to keep her in line-“

“Nonsense, Cecil’s always got his nose in some book or another. They can talk about it together.”

Cecil looks quizzically at Dana, wondering if she has any idea why they’re being discussed as if they aren’t in the room. She refuses to meet his gaze and instead keeps her eyes towards the floor. His mother’s voice brings him back to the conversation. “…And Cecil’s very courteous. You should see how well he treats the help! He’ll no doubt be a superb father.”

“How wonderful! We have no doubt that Dana will be a good mother as well. She was so helpful in helping her mother with the younger ones.”

Suddenly everything clicks into place and Cecil feels all color drain from his face. The air is suffocating around him and his heart is hammering within his chest, not pleasantly. “I think I need to- excuse myself, my apologies,” he stammers out, backtracking as fast as his feet will let him. As soon as he’s out of sight he all but sprints to the nearest alcove, hiding himself in the shadows and pressing a hand against his neck to feel his pulse racing.

“What is wrong with you?” He jumps, not realizing his mother had followed him. Her hand closes punishingly tight around his bicep and he’s dragged out of his hiding spot. “That was incredibly rude. Your father is doing damage control right now.”

“You were talking about children! Specifically, _our_ children! Dana and I! Children are something for _marriage_!”

His mother’s lips press into a flat line. “Yes.”

He was teetering on hysteria before, but this tips him over. “ _Yes?_ Mother, I’m seventeen! I certainly don’t have to worry about marriage for years! Marrying young is for the lower class, not us! Even Dana is on the young side for a woman! This isn’t-“

“Shhh.” She hisses, quieting him. “Cecil, this is for the good of the family. You’ll have to trust your father and I that this is the right choice. And Dana’s a lovely girl. I know it’s not exactly customary for a man in our class to get married so early, but-“

“Customary?” He nearly shrieks, and his mother clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Look, Cecil.” She sighs, looking weary and defeated. “Dana’s family is very…well-connected. And she brings with her a _very_ high dowry.”

He blinks at her, wheels turning in his mind. Pushing off her arm, he asks “Mother, are we…in trouble? Financially?”

“Just give Dana a chance, will you? For the family.”

Feeling numb, he nods slowly. “I’ll…yes.”

“That’s my boy.” She smiles at him, affectionately and a bit sadly. “I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well.  Do what you wish with the rest of your night, alright?”

“Yes, mother.”

She walks off, and he leans against the building, feeling the cool seep through his jacket and shirt. Suddenly he’s aware of all the noise, all of the people around him, and he can’t stand it. He slips away, around the patio to where the lights aren’t as bright, until he reaches the balcony, which is illuminated by the full moon alone and is blissfully empty.

He leans against the railing, staring across the land as the cool air bites into his skin. It’s calming, in a way, bringing him back to earth.

“Sir?” He turns to see Carlos standing behind him with a concerned expression. “What are you doing out here? You’ll catch your death of cold.”

He opens his mouth to explain, but shuts it again. How can he explain what’s running through his head right now, making him unable to think? How he wants to vomit or run away, far far away until he doesn’t have to think about this anymore, how his mind is buzzing and he can’t think can’t think _can’t think_

There’s the press of chilled glass to his lips, and he breaks through the haze to see Carlos holding up a flute of champagne. “Drink.”

“Carlos, you know I don’t care for-“

“It will calm you. Drink.”

Cecil does as he’s told then, still overwhelmed and lost. The taste isn’t one he’s ever liked; the bitter aftertaste has always made him recoil, even though champagne was supposed to be one of the sweeter drinks. But now he parts his lips, allows the bubbly drink to slide over his tongue, down his throat. “Sip at it,” Carlos instructs, and Cecil does. He allows Carlos to tip the glass up, emptying the contents into his mouth where they go to warm his stomach pleasantly. The bitter taste fades, leaving him with only sweetness and he’s beginning to see why people drink, especially when the alcohol makes the inside of his head stop being so loud and he finds he can breathe again.

“Better?” Carlos asks as he sets the empty glass down, and Cecil nods. “Good. Now, sir, what had you so worked up?”

“Oh, Carlos.” He turns to face the sky, watching his own breath frost in front of him. “Everything’s so wrong.”

“What, exactly, is wrong?”

“My parents- they want me to think about getting married. They say it’s my duty to the family. And the girl is nice, and very pretty, but- I’ve read those books, Carlos, where the man and the woman see each other, and it’s like lightning. They simply can’t stand to be separated. They must be in each other’s presence every minute or they might just die! They find each other, and they just _know_. They know that they’ve found their love, and everything in the universe is right.” He turns to Carlos then, desperate, and clutches at his shoulders. “I have been waiting for so long to feel that with a woman! But it hasn’t happened, and certainly not with Dana. She seems wonderfully nice, but there was no electricity, no need, and everything feels so wrong! It shouldn’t feel this wrong, Carlos!”

Carlos’ face is blank, carefully schooled, and Cecil just wants to _shatter_ that emptiness, to make Carlos react. Warm fingers rest again Cecil’s face, and Carlos is brushing away Cecil’s tears, and when had he even started crying? “Carlos, I- I just-“ He’s overcome with emotion, and want, and a million things threaten to spill off of his tongue, but instead he pushes forward, throwing his arms around Carlos and burying his face in the crook of his neck.

Carlos goes completely still for a second, then wraps his arms around Cecil’s waist and pulls him close. It’s so comfortable and good, the weight against his back, the solid chest against his, the scent now completely surrounding him. He wants to stay like this forever, safe and warm in the cold night.

In the end it’s not him that pulls away, but Carlos. The sudden shift in balance makes Cecil wobble, grab at Carlos to keep from stumbling. “Sir, are you- wait-“ Carlos ducks down to get a better look at Cecil. “My god, you’re tipsy already. Only from that?” He chuckles, a low vibration that Cecil can feel under his palms. “You certainly are a lightweight, sir. Never try brandy.”

“Shut your head,” Cecil says, despite himself, he feels a little better, and the words come out affectionately.

Somewhere in the distance, the church bells chime. “It’s midnight,” Carlos says softly, looking out over the snow. “It’s Christmas.”

“Oh, oh wait!” Cecil jerks up, separating from Carlos although he’s loath to do so. “I have something for you! Stay here!”

He darts inside, weaving only a little, and runs up to his room, where he’s hidden it, and then back down. He bursts back onto the balcony out of breath and clutching the package. Carlos is still standing out there, blowing on his cupped hands to keep them warm, and Cecil feels a pang of guilt at having him stay out there, but at the same time has an instinct that if they went inside this spell would be broken and he’d have to face reality once again. He offers the package to Carlos, who takes it with a small smile. “You didn’t have to, sir.”

“I know. I wanted to.” He’s having trouble standing still as Carlos unties the knot and folds back the paper. What if he did this wrong? What if Carlos doesn’t like it?”

“Oh.” The small noise falls from Carlos’ lips as he lifts the books from the paper. _Hereditary Genius_. _The Chemical History of a Candle. The Origin of Species._ _The Gases of the Atmosphere_. He mouths the title as he picks up each volume.

Cecil is almost vibrating with nerves watching him. “Do you like them? I just remembered you saying that you liked science, and these were supposed to be the best- I don’t understand a word, but you’re so smart, I figured you would. You _do_ like them, though?”

“Oh, Cecil. I _love_ them.”

And there it is, _Cecil_ , and he can’t help but squirm with happiness. “Really?”

“Yes, absolutely. Thank you so much.” He looks up at Cecil, and the smile is quickly replaced with a worried frown. “You’re shivering, sir. You should get inside.”

Cecil hadn’t even noticed the cold anymore, but he follows Carlos around the house to where the door is. He tilts his head up as they walk, meaning to check if the moon was as bright as it was earlier, and sees something that makes him falter.

“Sir, everything alright?” Of course Carlos notices the moment his steps become uneven, and he glances back and up, to where Cecil’s gaze is fixed. “Mistletoe?”

“Yes. Mother is a stickler for tradition.”

“I’ve noticed.”

They stand there for a moment, looking up at the innocuous spring of plant hanging above them. The quiet is the quiet of a winter’s night, still with snow, and it’s not uncomfortable. “The tradition,” Carlos says suddenly.

“Hm?”

“It’s kissing, is it not?”

If Cecil wasn’t frozen to the bone, he’s sure his face would be turning red. He hasn’t the slightest clue why, but the curling in his stomach is back. And not the nasty kind when he thinks about marrying Dana, but the dizzying jolt when Carlos places a hand on the small of his back, or says his name with a smile in his voice. “Yes,” he says, and his voice sounds unnatural to his ears.

“Well, then.” Carlos steps forward and Cecil is sure his eyes are wide as dinner plates. He has no idea what’s about to happen, but something within him is crowing _yes!_ He cannot find the energy to wonder why or fight it, and he’s not entirely sure he wants to.

Carlos reaches out and takes Cecil’s hand in his, a surprising flash of heat in the cold. He bows, as professionally as a gentleman, and brushes his lips over the back of Cecil’s knuckles. The point of contact sparks like electricity. He’s warm all over, but he’s not sure if that’s the alcohol or not.

He lets go of Cecil’s hand, which feels cold and empty now. “Merry Christmas, sir.”

“Merry Christmas, Carlos.”

They go around the corner and inside after that, Carlos goes to help the kitchen staff clean up, and Cecil falls into bed and asleep almost immediately.

* * *

 

“Cecil?”

Cecil is awake. He doesn’t remember waking up, but he’s awake. It’s snowing outside, thick flakes that somehow let through the moonlight which lights up his bedroom almost more than the sun. “Carlos?” He asks softly, looking into the shadows.

Carlos steps out from the darkness and into the moonlight. He’s wearing only slacks and a button-up shirt that’s got the top three buttons undone. “Cecil,” he says again, and his voice is low and sends shivers up Cecil’s spine.

“What are you doing here?” Cecil is abruptly aware that he’s wearing only a nightshirt, although he could have sworn he put on full pajamas before going to sleep.

“Came to see you,” Carlos actually _purrs_ , kneeling on the edge of Cecil’s bed. “You gave me a present. Now I have something to give to you back.” He crawls up to where Cecil’s lying, one knee on either side of Cecil’s hips and one hand on either side of his head. He slowly lowers his head and Cecil can’t stop staring into those hungry brown eyes.

Then Carlos reaches over, takes Cecil’s hand and brings it to his mouth, kisses it just like he had outside on the balcony. Those same sparks shoot up Cecil’s arm, but Carlos isn’t done. He next kisses the inside of Cecil’s wrist, his forearm, the crook of his elbow, until he’s laying kisses on Cecil’s neck and Cecil can’t help but gasp.

He covers his mouth, feeling like he should at least be a little ashamed, but Carlos pulls away his hand and pins both of them above his head. “No, don’t be quiet. I want to hear the sounds you make, Cecil.”

Cecil whimpers, and Carlos’ eyes flash at the noise. “Please, keep saying my name like that.”

“Of course, Cecil.” Carlos nuzzles against his neck and shifts so that both of Cecil’s wrists are captured in one hand. The other steals down, below the covers, and finds Cecil’s bare knee. Heat blossoms from the contact, and Cecil writhes underneath him. He wants- he wants _something_ , but he can’t name it, can’t put his finger on it, only knows that there’s pressure building low and it’s terrible and wonderful at the same time.

The hand begins sliding up, along the length of Cecil’s leg, and he thought it might stop when he reached the hem of the nightshirt but it doesn’t, just keeps going underneath. By now Cecil is making the most undignified noises, little moans and broken-off words.

“What do you want, Cecil?” Carlos murmurs against his skin.

“I don’t- I don’t know, please…”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t know, really, I don’t…”

“Then you’ll get nothing.” The hand stops halfway up his thigh, and Cecil automatically tries to arch up into the touch but Carlos has a firm hold on him.

“Carlos, please. _Please_.” Cecil’s never felt like this, flushed and needy and the pressure in his belly is getting worse by the minute. He feels like he’s heading toward a cliff and he almost wants to fall over the edge. “Please, I- I- touch me. Keep touching me. Please.”

There’s a smile against his neck and then the hand is moving up again, closer and closer to where Cecil is simply _aching_ for something he can’t describe. He _wants,_ he _needs_ , and only Carlos can give it to him, _yes_ , Carlos, _yes_ , like that, oh…

Carlos’ hand has reached where the thigh meets the hip and there are calloused fingers skating ever-so-gently along the line leading to his center, where he’s burning hot, so unbearably hot, just for you, Carlos.

“ _Please!_ ” Cecil absolutely wails, thrashing back and forth and trying to touch anywhere, anywhere are all.

Carlos lets go of his wrists, grabs his chin, forces him to look into his eyes. “ _Cecil_ ,” he growls, “ _my_ Cecil.”

His hand unexpectedly cups Cecil right where he needs the touch the most, at the same time he leans down and smashes their lips together, and _oh_ and _yes_ and there’s blinding white-

 

Cecil jerks up in bed, panting and trembling. Sunlight streams through the window. He’s wearing his full pajamas and not a nightshirt at all. He moves to get a better look out the window, and freezes at the sticky and rapidly cooling patch of wet on his pajama trousers. What…?

He sits back in bed and places his head in his heads. Oh, lord. What on earth was happening to him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like this idea. Just that Cecil is so sheltered that he doesn't really understand how sex works (at least not in the context of a guy) and Carlos totally know what's up. 
> 
> Smut will be coming later. I'm not saying lots of smut, but LOTS of smut.
> 
> If you'd like updates, lots of Night Vale reblogs, or just to chat, my blog is [here](http://floating-cats.tumblr.com). Sometimes I write fluff. Sometimes it's porn. Come talk to me about either.


	2. Tea, Bones, and The Kiss

Cecil watches the small ripples flow across his tea, crashing against the side of the cup. Taking a deep breath, he tries to calm his shaking hand, but to no avail. He can be cool and collected everywhere else, but his hands give him away. Finally he manages to take a sip, but by now the tea is lukewarm and unappealing, and Cecil can’t help but make a face at it.

“Sir?” There’s a light touch on his elbow, and he only just manages to not spill all over everything. “Apologies, sir, but you weren’t responding. Would you care for more tea?”

He can’t bring himself to look up, to meet those brown eyes, not yet. “Sorry. I was…off in another world, I suppose. Yes, more tea would be nice.”

His cup is topped off and when he goes to drink it, it’s scalding. It burns his tongue and lips, and he makes no effort to stop it. The pain is nice, almost, grounding in a way, and he presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth just to feel the sensitivity. “That will be all, Carlos,” he finds himself saying, feeling detached from the words.

He dares to glance up as Carlos leaves, catching only a passing glance at his elegant retreating form, and takes a large sip of tea, allowing the searing liquid to burn down his throat. His Latin book is still open on the table in front of him, but he’s been rereading the same paragraph for 45 minutes now, and if he’s going to be honest with himself, he’s probably not going to get this at all.

  _Domus_ \- he needed to organize a few things before spring hit, he’d need to clear out his dresser once again- _familia_ \- his mother wanted him to accompany her to the luncheon on Saturday, he’d have to find a way out of that- _ignus_ \- Carlos would vouch for him, if he needed, would smile that reserved smile of his and lie for him- _concupisco_ \- lie with that same mouth he’d used in Cecil’s dream to leave a trail of heat down the side of his neck, to claim Cecil’s lips-

Cecil slams the book shut so fast that the table wobbles and his teacup tips over. Leaping up with a strangled curse, he tries to get away, but it’s too late, and he can only hiss through his teeth as his chest and legs are splashed with it, burning and then quickly cooling. He uselessly tries to blot it with his handkerchief, muttering under his breath about his _stupid_ luck and how _idiotic_ he can be sometimes. Honestly, who tips over a glass by shutting a book?

“Sir, I heard a loud noise, is- Oh.” Carlos is watching from the doorway, faint bemusement showing under his carefully controlled expression. Cecil wants to curl up and die, standing there wet and getting cold because he is apparently unable to do basic things like drink tea and read at the same time. “Well, then, come now.” He holds open the door behind him and Cecil just looks at him in confusion. “We need to get you out of those wet clothes,” he clarifies.

Cecil shakes his head automatically, trying to stand in a casually even though he’s becoming more and more uncomfortable with the dampness. “That’s not _really_ necessary, Carlos.”

Carlos sighs and in a trice he’s next to Cecil, taking the handkerchief out of his hand. “Yes, it is.”

“No, I mean, I’m sure there are more important things you have to do, and it’s not so bad, really-“

The hand at the small of Cecil’s back cuts off his words, as does Carlos’ firm tone. “Sir. You need to get changed.” Cecil nods numbly, and allows himself to be steered down the hall and into his bedroom, where Carlos leaves him standing next to his bed. Cecil can’t help but shiver- the house is too large to heat, and being wet is making it worse- but soon his valet is back, setting a fresh set of clothing down beside him.

Carlos’ hands are quick and practiced as they unbutton Cecil’s vest, yet the viscount is shivering for a reason that has nothing to do with the cold. He can’t help but remember those hands grabbing his wrists, sliding up his leg, teasing him and finally giving him exactly what he needed- He bites his lip at the unexpected flush of heat from within, even as he’s still so cold, and the brushes of Carlos’ fingers against his skin as he pushes the soaked shirt off his shoulders seem magnified somehow. He’s standing naked from the chest up in front of Carlos, trembling even though he’s not sure why, and suddenly it’s all too much and he’s overwhelmed and he has to close his eyes just to center himself.

Suddenly, warmth, as Carlos rests one of those magnificent and terrible hands against Cecil’s jawline. Cecil slowly opens his eyes to see Carlos watching him with concern. “Are you alright, sir?”

Once again, Cecil nods, shakily this time, and manages a smile that he really doesn’t mean but seems to placate Carlos who goes back to his work. Cecil’s fine, he really is. There’s absolutely no reason for him to get all riled up over a silly dream. He’s had dreams far more unrealistic and outlandish in the past, this one shouldn’t be bothering him so much. Really, he’s fine.

At least, he is until Carlos drops down on his knees to undo the laces of Cecil’s pants, which is when he abruptly forgets how to think. Carlos is adept at this, but he still brushes against the sensitive skin of Cecil’s thighs and- _elsewhere._ The clenching in Cecil’s stomach is absolutely unbearable, and he doesn’t fully know how he knows, but he knows that letting Carlos pull his pants off in this state would be Very Not Good. He panics and seizes Carlos’ wrists, stopping the motions.

Carlos looks up at him, brow wrinkled. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing’s wrong. At least, it shouldn’t be. Carlos has dressed and undressed him probably hundreds of times before without event. Of course, all those other times, Cecil hadn’t been holding the mental picture of what Carlos _may_ have looked like hungry and predatory. “Nothing,” he finally manages.

The valet’s eyes linger on him for a long moment, and Cecil shifts uncomfortably. Oh, dear. He can’t- there’s still that strange heat tingling in his chest and Carlos is so very close to being done with the laces. Cecil just needs to think of something to make the heat go _away_ , is all. Come on, something…unsavory. That fellow down the street, maybe, who always makes him bristle, Steve. No, that’s not doing it. Those grotesque angel statues near the church that Mrs. Josie is always talk about? No, and Carlos has the strings free at last.

As his thumbs hook into the waist of Cecil’s pants, the viscount once again worries his bottom lip with his teeth. How is he going to survive being married and making love to Dana if he can’t even-

And that does it. The heat, the tingling, it all drains away as Cecil is suddenly struck with the image of he and Dana wound around each other. He breathes a sigh of relief as Carlos pulls off the pants and there’s nothing unusual. Whatever bad thing was going to happen has been avoided.

As Carlos wraps him in dry, soft new clothes, the relief is replaced with a faint sick feeling. There’s still something very wrong, Cecil thinks, in the way that thinking about his servant’s hands on him makes him flush, and the thought of making love to his wife takes it away. Something _very_ wrong.

“Sir-“ Carlos is touching his elbow again, and Cecil can’t stand the sparks that leap from the contact, can’t take it right now.

He jerks away from Carlos, feeling a flash of shame at the bewilderment and hurt that he sees in response. “That will be all,” he says tersely, one hand clutching one of the bed’s posts so hard his knuckles are turning white.

“Sir, is-“

“Leave me!” He snaps, turning away.

He can feel Carlos hesitating, and then there’s a quiet “Of course, sir.” before the door shuts behind him. Cecil leans in, resting his forehead against the hand still on the post, and lets out a shaky breath.

* * *

 

Cecil might be going mad. He’s been dodging Carlos at every opportunity and can officially no longer look the other man in the eye. This is mostly because no matter how little he sees of Carlos throughout the day, he’s still haunted by these _damnable dreams_ every night.

Some of them are like the first, pure exquisite torture, where Carlos is pressed flush against him cooing absolutely filthy things into his ear, and Cecil can’t do anything but shudder and moan and beg. Cecil wakes up from those dreams either sticky and feeling disgusting, or still trembling and aching and needy. His first instinct is to put his hand between his legs, because somehow he thinks that will help, will get him to that other place, even though he’s never tried. And he won’t. The fact that he feels like he does already is enough to mortify him with shame, and if he tried to do anything with Carlos’ image still fresh behind his eyes it would- he doesn’t like to think about it. So he sits in bed tense, head in his hands, until the knot loosens and he can breathe again.

The other kind of dreams are rare, but, if it’s possible, even worse. He wakes up from these less ashamed, but sick to his stomach all the same. While the first ones are frantic, awash with want, these are slow and languid. Carlos touches him in them, yes, but it’s more innocent and intimate at the same time. Cupping his cheek, pulling him close, saying things like _Cecil, you’re beautiful_ and _you are cherished_ and _Cecil, I love-_

No.

Cecil prefers not sleeping over being tormented so every night. He reads by candlelight until he can no longer keep his eyes open, then he drops into a fitful sort of rest. It’s not satisfying, and he’s exhausted.

“You look a sight, sir. Are you ill?” Carlos asks with concern one morning when Cecil abruptly jerks out of the sleep he’d been slipping into.

“I’m fine, Carlos.” His hands still shake.

Later, he’s standing in a corridor by the library, looking for his mother so he can ask her something.  He can’t seem to find her anywhere, and it’s so very tiring walking around the house. Leaning against the wall, he yawns and closes his eyes, only for a moment. Yes, he’ll just rest for a second.

The next thing he’s conscious of is a warm hand at the small of his back and another at his shoulder, gently pulling him away from the wall. He comes in contact with a chest and nuzzles in without hesitation. He’d know that scent anywhere, dear, sweet Carlos- Carlos?

Blearily, he opens his eyes, and the fuzzy world pieces in around him. Carlos is half-walking half-carrying him down the hall, and Cecil wasn’t even aware that his feet had started moving. “Carlos?” He rubs at his eyes with one hand. “What’re you doing?”

“Taking you to bed, sir.” The weight on his back has moved, the arm now looping around his waist.

“I don’t- that’s not nec-“

“Hush, you’re dead on your feet.”

They reach the bedroom, but Carlos doesn’t let go of Cecil until they’ve reached the bed itself. He pushes Cecil into a sitting position, and Cecil is too tired to protest as Carlos kneels and removes his shoes. “I think perhaps you should call for a doctor tomorrow.”

“I’m not ill.”

“You certainly aren’t healthy.” Carlos rises, lifting Cecil’s legs up on the bed and pressing at his shoulders until he lies down. Cecil presses his face against his pillow with a sigh, and Carlos’ hand is against his forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever…”

“I’m not sick, Carlos. I just…haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

Carlos drops his wrist from where he was checking his pulse. “Oh? Why not?”

“I’m not sure,” he says, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.

“Well, sleep now, if you can.” Carlos pulls up the blanket over Cecil without bothering to undress him, which Cecil is thankful for. He’s not sure he has the energy right now to fight back the feelings that arise in that situation.

Cecil burrows into the cool sheets and sleep comes almost immediately. He thinks, very dimly, that he feels a pair of lips brush his forehead, but that might just be wishful thinking.

 

* * *

 

Cecil is curled up in the window sill, trying desperately to study his Latin. He’s got a lesson with Mrs. Josie in an hour and, due to the sleep-deprived fugue he put himself in for the better part of the week, he can’t remember anything he read.

“Carlos,” he says in desperation. The valet looks up with surprise from where he had been folding clothes. This is the first time Cecil has initiated a conversation in a time- the viscount is still avoiding Carlos whenever possible and often tries not to be in the same room alone together. Cecil knows that he’s been short lately, but his head is so turned around he doesn’t know up from down. “I can’t possibly do this. Man was not made for studying!”

Carlos sets down the shirt, turning in Cecil’s direction with a thoughtful expression. “When I study something, I try to break it into smaller concepts first. Perhaps you’ve been taking on too much at a time. Trying to tackle an entire language is quite a tall order, don’t you think?”

Cecil is going to whine and go back to his work, when something occurs to him. “When do you have to study? You haven’t had schooling for years.”

“I study on my own, sir. I like learning. Lately, I’ve been studying the books you gave me for Christmas.”

His face heats up slightly and his stomach gives a happy little lurch when he remembers Christmas, standing on the balcony and Carlos’ unguarded smile. “Yes? Which ones? Have you learned anything?” He realizes a moment too late he’s overenthusiastic again, carried away in that way only he seems to get.

Carlos, to his credit, doesn’t seem to mind, and gives him a small, careful nod. “Yes, I’d say I have. There’s this book about anatomy I’m interested in right now. Simply fascinating.”

“Oh, Carlos. I wish you could tell me some things about science, but I’m afraid they’d go right over my head.”

“I suppose without context, many of them might- hm, wait. I might just have an idea.”

There’s a glint in Carlos’ eye that makes Cecil sit up straighter, anticipatory. “Oh?”

“Maybe a practical application might be easier.” He crosses to where Cecil’s sitting, Latin book now completely forgotten. He holds out his hand, like he’s a gentleman waiting to lead a lady in a waltz.

Cecil hesitates, falters, and finally places his hand in Carlos’. The other man grins and pulls it closer towards him, extending Cecil’s arm. “Distal phalanx,” he says, pressing the fingertips of his other hand on the nail of the fourth finger of Cecil’s hand. “Middle phalanx,” and that’s the middle of his finger, “proximal phalanx,” and it’s the area just past his knuckle.

As Carlos says “metacarpals,” Cecil suddenly understands that Carlos is naming his bones, one by one. The slight brush of skin against the back of his hand as Carlos does so should probably not make his breath quicken as it is, but he doesn’t want Carlos to stop. The names of the bones in his wrist fall from Carlos’ lips like some ancient incantation, his fingers dancing across and pressing at slightly different areas each time. “Radius” brings with it a glide up Cecil’s arm, and “ulna” the same thing on the other side.

“Humerus,” Carlos says, pressing against the arm above the elbow. Cecil can feel the warmth from his touch seeping through the fabric of his shirt. The next touch is at the tip of his shoulder, “acromion”.

Cecil is fairly sure that Carlos didn’t start this close, but he can’t complain, especially as Carlos says “clavicle” and traces along the line from Cecil’s shoulder to his neck. Near the end his fingers slide off the material and land on bare skin, and the effect is electric.

The hand drifts down, down, until it’s resting in the middle of Cecil’s chest. “Sternum.” This time Carlos doesn’t move on, only keeps his hand planted there and gazes down at it perplexedly.

Cecil tries to keep his breathing as natural as possible. The coil in his stomach is twisting impatiently, demanding _something_. Carlos’ eyes at last drift up to Cecil’s. “Sir, your heart is racing like mad. Are you still feeling unwell?”

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Yes? No? Is he well anymore? He doesn’t know. But Carlos is looking at him so intently, and he suddenly feels trapped inside his own skin, held down by the heavy weight of the hand on his chest. He twists away, sitting on the window sill once again. “I need to study.”

Carlos is standing there, hand still extended. “I honestly think-“

“Did you not hear me?” Cecil has all but buried his face in the book, shielding his face from his valet. He curls up farther away, the cool glass a relief against his too-hot skin. “I said I need to study.”

Carlos makes a brief frustrated noise, which almost makes Cecil look up. Almost. Normally Carlos is so composed that he never indulges in any vocalizations that are not carefully considered, but this has slipped through. In any case, Cecil can now hear Carlos’ footsteps striding across the room, shutting the door behind him with a little more force than necessary.

The sound echoes around the room, the silence even more so. Cecil allows his face to drop against the open book, groaning low in his throat as he does so. Maybe he is getting ill. At least he doesn’t have to worry about being uncomfortable around Carlos anymore- after that show, the man would probably avoid Cecil just as much. Why couldn’t Cecil just be _normal?_ The display of anatomy had been something he’d expressed interest in, even asked for, and then he’s rude to Carlos when he gives it. He feels sick, and still flushed, and by the time he’s composed he’s late for his lesson.

* * *

 

Mrs. Josie gives him a disapproving look at makes him shrink down. “Mrs. Josie, I-“

“Save your breath, Mr. Palmer. I come here to teach you, and if you aren’t willing to give it the effort, then maybe I am not needed at all.”

“No, no, Mrs. Josie, you’re needed!” Cecil protests, dropping into his chair. “I’m sorry, I was just delayed, and lost track of time.”

The old woman sighs, shaking her head. “You lack any sense of responsibility. I don’t know how you’re going to run a household someday.” Her steely grey eyes find his. “I just hope you set a good enough role model for your children, or you marry a wife who will.”

Cecil stares down at his desk, a lump coming to his throat. “Can we- please just start on Latin?”

“Very well.” She sits primly on a chair and folds her hands. “Recite.”

“Odi et amo,” he says, measured, still not looking up. “Quare id faciam fortasse requiris, um, n-nescio, sed fieri… s-sentio et- et- ” The last word is there, hanging on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t find it enough to spit it out. His mind is spinning like a water wheel and he just can’t remember the last word. All that comes out is a choked noise and he presses his hands against his face.

“Honestly, Mr. Palmer. Did you study at all?”

“I tried. You must believe me, I tried.”

“Oh? And how did you try so and still not manage to remember _one_ simple recitation?”

“It’s been- Oh, Mrs. Josie, I can’t think lately, I can’t sleep, I don’t know where I’m going or who I am or what’s happening to me, and I-“

“Child, quiet.” Mrs. Josie holds up a hand, cutting off the rushed stream of words coming from between Cecil’s fingers. “You’re speaking nonsense. Quite frankly, you sound as if possessed.”

“Maybe I am, Mrs. Josie. Maybe I am. I can’t-” He lowered his hands, laying them on the book in front of him. Latin under his fingers, completely useless. “Is it possible to hate someone without realizing it? Could the hate sour your system so you can’t stand them, even though you truly _don’t_ hate them, and it makes you sick?”

Mrs. Josie purses her lips. “Is this referring to one person specifically?”

“Yes.” He thinks of Carlos, sophisticated and warm, and he grips the book to give his hands something to do.

“And when you see them, your heart feels as if it’s about to climb out of your throat?”

“Yes!” Cecil jerks into an upright position, eyes wide. Is there some innocent explanation for all of this?

“Your palms begin to sweat, you overthink every interaction. You feel almost ill when you’re alone with your thoughts.”

Cecil nods eagerly. Oh, this is wonderful. Everything will be fixed! If this ailment is so common Mrs. Josie can describe it so well, there must be a simple cure. Maybe it is stagnant hatred, though he cringes to think he secretly _hates_ Carlos, who he’s seen as a friend. But still, to know what’s wrong would be a relief in and of itself.

“And if you two happen to touch, it’s like those little sparks when you’ve been walking across a carpet and you touch the door handle. A shock. Or warmth, traveling through your veins.”

“Mrs. Josie, you’re spot on. Please, tell me if you can, what is it? Am I truly ill? Or is it some harbored resentment that’s festered?”

She shakes her head. “It’s neither of those, Mr. Palmer, but I can say at least I understand why you can’t focus on your work these days.”

“Is it- is there a remedy? Must I never see- this person again? Don’t say that’s so, but tell me the truth. I’ve been pulling my hair out over this.”

“It’s not hatred, child. Nor is it sickness. It’s a simple condition, yet so mysterious.”

He’s waiting with bated breath when Mrs. Josie declares, with a small, wistful smile, “It’s infatuation.”

Cecil blinks at her, head tilting slightly to the side. “What?”

“Affection, Mr. Palmer. You’re in love.”

The world slows down around him. Love? That’s not possible. It’s Carlos. He’s- he’s _Carlos_. He’s a servant. He’s a colored person. And, even more horrifying, he’s a _man!_ Men don’t fall in love with men. That’s not how nature designed people. He’s heard about it happening, sure, this- _sin_ , this _crime_ \- and not just a crime in society, but a crime against God himself- except every time he’s heard whispers of it it’s been in the slums, where people have no breeding or self-control. Not _here_ , in a decent Christian household, where he’s got a family and schooling and a potential wife.

A laugh breaks him out of his ruminating. “Ah, there’s the face of a youth being in love for the first time! I’d almost forgotten what it looked like. Terrifying, isn’t it? To know you care about someone so much, that your world has just shifted for one person.” Her eyes are faraway, somewhere in the past. “Yes, it’s terrifying, but it’s beautiful.”

Cecil can’t breathe. There’s no air in here. Why is there no air in here? “No, Mrs. Josie. You don’t understand. It’s not _love_. I’m completely sure that it isn’t. It literally cannot be. There must be something else, something different.”

“Child, calm down.” There’s a cool wrinkled hand on his shoulder. “It’s normal to be scared of it at first. After all, you’ve always been so independent. But this is a blessing! Especially to find her so young, when you’re marrying age.”

 _Her_. He’d chuckle if he didn’t feel like he was about to faint. “It’s not love. It can’t be. It isn’t.”

“The longer you fight it,” she says ominously, “the more you’ll make yourself crazy, Mr. Palmer.”

“But it’s not love.”

“Stop running.” Her other hand waves flippantly in the air. “Go talk to her. Tell her how you feel. It’s truly a miraculous wonder, once you embrace it-”

“ _It’s not love!_ ” Cecil stands up and slams his hands on the desk.

The silence that settles in is truly deafening. Mrs. Josie is looking at him keenly, one eyebrow arched. Cecil swallows hard, opens his mouth, closes it again, stares at his feet while his cheeks burn with shame. “You’re dismissed,” Mrs. Josie says at last. “Go, and I expect you to have the entire exercise page ready to recite on our next meeting.”

Cecil nods, and flees.

* * *

 

“Sir-” Carlos says as Cecil strides past him going the opposite direction in the hallway. Cecil can’t meet his eyes, can’t speak to him right now, and he picks up his speed to as fast as he can go while still walking.

He opens his bedroom door and shuts it quickly behind him like he’s trying to keep out any ghosts that could be following. Back pressed against the wood, he takes a few steadying breaths, eyes closed. The conversation he just had seems as if it wasn’t in reality and was maybe instead in some far-off distant dream. He drops his books on a chair and walks over to his dresser with the mirror above it. Bracing both hands against the edge of the dresser, he leans in, staring at his reflection unflinchingly, scouring his face for…what? He’s not sure, but he’s not finding it. He’s quaking, truly, still riled up from his outburst, which was really absurd because it’s not _love_ , be can’t be in _love_ with Carlos, and those dreams be _damned_ , because he’s _not_ in love, he’s totally normal, going to be normal and be married and _oh god he’s going to be sick-_

“Sir?” He didn’t hear Carlos enter and he whirls around at that, seeing him only a few steps away.

“Carlos.” Cecil barely recognizes his own voice. “Everything is well, I don’t need you. I mean-” He can’t help but curl his fists at that, bubbling over with aggravation. “I don’t need your _help_.” He doesn’t need Carlos, either, but that’s not what he meant to say, and _damn it to hell_ , Carlos is still gazing at him and Cecil can’t _stand it_. He quickly walks away from Carlos, across the room, but when he turns back around his valet has followed him. “Carlos, you don’t-”

“Sir-”

“I am not-”

“Sir-”

“It’s unacce-”

“ _Cecil_.”

Cecil shuts up at that, at the serious tone in Carlos’ voice and the sound of his own name on those lips. Oh, God. He gapes at Carlos, wishing he could explain, apologize, be absolved somehow, but the words won’t come and he just stands there shaking and, embarrassingly, tearing up.

Carlos takes Cecil’s hands in his and Cecil allows himself to be led like a lamb to the slaughter, following obediently. They stop at the side of Cecil’s bed and when Carlos sits, he tugs Cecil to sit down next to him, letting go of his hands after he’s done so. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks now. You’re behaving erratically, withdrawing into yourself except for the occasional explosion, your moods are irregular- it’s worrying. What’s troubling you?”

Cecil shakes his head, still feeling the hot prickle of tears in the corner of his eyes, and willing them not to fall. “Nothing, Carlos.”

“Don’t lie to me, sir.” Carlos’ voice is gentle now, low and comforting. “I’ve grown up beside you. I know your natural state and what provokes you to change it. You’re such a lovely person to be around normally. Chipper, enthusiastic, witty. But you’re not the same Cecil right now, and frankly, you don’t seem any happier for it. To be completely honest, I miss the Cecil I knew.” Hearing Carlos speak about him so kindly and with so much care after Cecil has spent so long being nothing but rude with him makes Cecil’s heart tear in two and he muffles a sob against his hand. Carlos doesn’t say anything for a minute, just lets Cecil attempt to put himself back together. “So I’ll ask again: What’s troubling you?”

Everything hurts, and Cecil can’t think of a lie that could convince Carlos. And Carlos is right- he’s miserable right now. He’s exhausted, feeling guilty, a right mess. “Carlos,” he croaks out, “it’s just- Oh, Carlos, I’ve ruined things so thoroughly. It’s- there was- the matter of _love_ , and I- You-”

“Love?” Carlos asks, sounding surprised. “Why is- oh. _Oh._ ” Cecil wants to crawl into a hole and die, anything but face Carlos right now- “This is about Dana, isn’t it? The marriage? Now that I think back, this started after Christmas.”

Dana, the woman his parents wanted him to marry. Lord help him. “Carlos, is it-” He folds his hands in his lap nervously. “My parents say that it’s my duty to the family. I should just stop whining and go along with it, shouldn’t I? I mean, I have to become the man of the house, and that m-means doing the right thing, even if-”

“You don’t want to,” Carlos finishes, and Cecil nods. “Do you? Truly not want to be with Dana?”

“I don’t know.” Cecil wishes that he either did or did not- this entire practice would be so much simpler. “She’s very nice. But it’s just not…it doesn’t feel right.” He whispers the last bit, not wanting to say it to even himself.

“You don’t love her.” It’s not a question. Cecil doesn’t answer. “Do you think you could? Given the time?”

“That’s not- that’s not what’s significant here, though. It doesn’t matter if I love her, or will love her, does it? We’ll get along just fine. And it’s very important to the family. I have an obligation. A duty.”

Carlos sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily. “I see.”

“Carlos, tell me honestly. Would you marry her? If you were in my place?”

“In full honestly?” He glances over at Cecil, who gives him a faint encouraging smile, still not entirely sure he won’t be sick, especially with Carlos so close and his pulse racing. “No. I wouldn’t.”

It hits Cecil like a train and he feels numb, like he wants to draw into himself and hide. Carlos touches his shoulder, brings him back. “Sir, perhaps I should explain.” He seems to realize where his hand is and lowers it to rest by his side. “Where I-” He clears his throat. “Where I grew up, marrying for love was a luxury that few could afford. Marriage was a contract of primarily economic obligation, especially for young women. If a women did not have a husband by the time she was eighteen, well… It wasn’t an easy life, you understand? For either party. Poverty was and still is rampant, and having two paychecks made everything a little easier. You can’t wait for love to find you, you can only pick your best option for, well, survival.”

“Oh.” Cecil presses trembling fingers against his mouth. “But you aren’t married.”

“No. This job pays well enough I am not forced to marry for money. I cannot say the same has been true for my siblings.”

“But still, Dana-“

“Sir, just-“ A long exhale. “Just please consider it before you make a choice. You have every option here, don’t choose because of a misguided sense of duty. So many young men and women in the slums would die for the chance to marry not because of necessity, but because there is truly a bond.”

Carlos places one hand on Cecil’s leg, and the heat comes through the fabric, through Cecil’s skin, into his bones. Carlos is looking at him intently with those deep brown eyes and _oh_ Cecil _wants_ but he doesn’t know what-

“Love,” Carlos says softly, “is a very rare opportunity. Please don’t let it go to waste.”

He’ll never know what does it. Maybe it’s the hand on his leg, or the talk of love, or the sleep deprivation, or his conversation with Josie, or those brown eyes, but something puts him over the edge in that moment.

Cecil breaks.

He flings himself forward, throwing his arms around Carlos’ neck as he does so and bringing their mouths together for a perfect wonderful _glorious_ kiss. It’s clumsy and Cecil is inexperienced but Carlos’ lips are so soft and sweet underneath his, and this is all Cecil’s ever wanted. His heart is absolutely spinning in circles as he tangles his hands in Carlos’ perfect hair. He just wants to press closer closer _closer_ , climb in Carlos’ lap and feel him against his chest, feel Carlos’ hands finally, blessedly against his skin. There’s a moment, blissful outside of time itself, where Carlos is kissing back, his mouth moving against Cecil’s, hands on Cecil’s shoulders-

And then Cecil is being pushed away. Carlos is holding him back, arms rigid, eyes wide. Cecil’s gaze flickers across his face, and the good feeling drains into something far worse. Carlos, he realizes, is looking at him with horror. Oh God oh god _ohgodohgodohgod._

“Cecil…” He starts, “Ah, sir, this- I- I should go.”

Without warning he’s up, all but running to the door. Cecil reaches out a minute too late, crying out “Carlos, wait, no, I didn’t-!” But the door shuts, and Cecil is left alone.

He can still feel the echo of Carlos’ body against his, can still taste him on his mouth. Falling backwards on his bed, he sobs openly, pillow muffling the sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, poor baby. It's okay, Cecil, there's smut in the next chapter. Just you hang on.
> 
> Again, the blog is [ here ](http://floating-cats.tumblr.com). If you'd like to leave me feedback or just chat, I'd love to hear from you. I also post sneak peeks and lots of Night Vale fan art.


	3. Dana, Anger, and The Fight

“You’re distracted, Mr. Palmer.”

Cecil jerks out his reverie. “No, I’m listening. I promise, Miss Adams.”

“Well, you seemed quite passive when I was talking about my study in reanimating dead flesh.” Dana takes a sip of her tea, glancing at him from above the lip of the cup.

“Reanimating-?” He runs a hand through his hair, instantly regretting it because there’s no way he can get it to fall into place again. “I’m sorry. My mind is somewhere else today. I deeply apologize.”

“It’s no matter. What’s taking up your concentration? Must be important.”

“It’s…nothing really.” It’s certainly not how soft Carlos’ lips felt against his, or how it felt to have his muscles moving under Cecil’s hands. It’s not the look of abject dismay on his perfect face as he backed away from Cecil like he had the plague. He hadn’t seen Carlos for the remainder of the night. This morning, getting dressed had been the iciest, most uncomfortable experience he could have imagined. Carlos hadn’t said anything besides “your arm, sir” or “step out” instead of the usual companionable chatter going on between them, and Cecil had spent the entire time staring at a point just above Carlos’ head. He hadn’t had to push down the urge. Shame had done it for him.

He hadn’t even wanted to meet Dana today. His mother had apparently gotten tired of hinting and basically had arranged a date at Dana’s house, where they had been making awkward small talk as the chaperone, one of the middle-aged maids, kept a watchful eye on them. No, Cecil hadn’t wanted to come. He would much rather curl up under a blanket and never face life again.

Cecil suddenly realizes that Dana is still talking. “Yes, of course.”

She gives him a long, steady look. “Mr. Palmer, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

“Certainly I have.”

“Then tell me, what are your opinions on what I’ve just described?”

“Well, ah, I think it’s all very well and good. You’re certainly correct, all in moderation.”

Her lips quirk up on one side. “Moderation in using electricity to reanimate the dead flesh?”

Cecil’s breath leaves him in a huff of laughter. “I am so sorry. Have you been describing Mary Shelley’s writings the entire time?”

She smiles at him then, for the first time since they’d sat down in her drawing room. “You’ve read it?”

“I love it. Victor’s narrative just stays with you, it’s so…”

“Haunting?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Personally,” Dana says, setting down her cup, “I think Frankenstein should have just made the monster a mate. All of the misery could have been avoided.”

Cecil shakes his head, making a tutting noise. “Ah, but would two in the world really have been better? It is better to keep it one; then, at least once the monster dies, it is done.”

“But Mr. Palmer, you lack a sense of empathy. Can you imagine what that’s like? Being so isolated, wanting so badly to belong but being unable to because of how you were made? It must be ghastly lonely.” Cecil’s fingers tighten on the handle of his teacup and his lips press into a thin line. Dana continues, “Can you really blame the monster for wanting someone like him?”

“Maybe the monster should have just accepted his lot,” Cecil says, a little feverishly.

“That’s incredibly tragic,” Dana’s hazel eyes scan Cecil’s face.

He balks. “Let’s speak of something else.  What do you do for enjoyment, Miss Adams? Besides read highly illogical science fiction not fit for ladies, that is.”

Cecil is fully aware he’s not being as polite as he should be, but he’s been on edge for far too long, and when he lets his mind wander at all he can still feel the sinfully sweet press of Carlos’ mouth. It’s all making him ridiculously tense and irritable. Either way, he feels a quick flash of guilt when Dana purses her lips, but she answers anyways. “I write, though that may not be _fit for ladies_ either.” She spits the words, and Cecil recoils. Now it’s Dana’s turn to look apologetic. “I’m sorry, Mr. Palmer. My temper gets away with me; it causes father no end of worry.”

“No, it’s my fault. It’s not my place to monitor your behavior.” At least, not until they’re married, and then she’s his to dictate as he will. He statement hangs unspoken and uncomfortable between them. “What do you write? Fiction?”

“Yes, but I’m awful at it.” She makes a very unladylike face, nose scrunched up and tongue sticking out, and Cecil thinks he may like this girl after all. “May I tell you something in confidence, Mr. Palmer?”

“Of course.”

She leans in, and he does the same. The chaperone in the corner fixes a wary gaze on them, just in case. “I’d love to be a journalist someday,” Dana whispers to Cecil. “Bringing the news to people, investigating the issues.”

Cecil’s eyebrows arch. “A woman? Of your class? And with-” He breaks off, awkward, not sure how to continue.

“And with children soon, mostly likely,” she finishes. “I know. It’s absurd. It would never work. But I can dream, can’t I? Nobody can take those away from me.”

The chaperone gives a loud “A-HEM” and the two lean back away. Cecil goes to take a sip, only to find his cup empty. He doesn’t make any move to summon the butler to fill it. He doesn’t want an excuse to stay here any longer than he has to.

Not that he doesn’t like Dana. She’s nice, very pretty, with just a hint of wit and fire simmering under the surface. She intrigues Cecil. He wants to talk with her about other things, about spirits and space and the state of the world. He wants to spend time with her, Cecil realizes, and that gives him a flicker of hope. Maybe he can write off the whole situation with Carlos, be normal, and marry Dana after all. He thinks about talking with her, seeing her smile and making her happy, and he doesn’t get that sick twist. Yes! Has he fixed it? Did he just need to go through a brief period of insanity first?

But then he thinks about kissing her, embracing her, and his heart drops to his stomach. That same creeping sense of wrong washes over him, and he wants to scream. He was _so close_ to being rid of this whole problem.

He snaps to and sees that Dana didn’t even bother calling him back this time. She’s staring at the wall behind him with her own faraway expression. When she sees him looking, she graces him with a weary smile. “I suppose you’re busy these days, Mr. Palmer?”

She’s giving him an out, and Cecil gratefully takes it. “Yes, very busy. I can’t actually stay for too much longer.”

“Well, far be it from me to keep you. My driver can take you back. I’ll accompany you.”

The ride back is at first peppered with attempts at conversation that peter out into silence as they try not to make eye contact. Cecil’s sure that this is the worst date anyone could have been on, and he’s mostly responsible for that.

“I had a nice time, Miss Adams,” he says, lying through his teeth as he steps out of the carriage. He glances backwards at his house, and something catches his eye. A familiar form in the upper window. It’s pitiable that Cecil knows Carlos so well that he can tell that it’s him just by his silhouette.

Carlos must be watching, and that makes something in Cecil want him to see how well things went with Dana (or might have went) and how very not pathetic Cecil is. He thinks briefly about kissing Dana on the lips, but that’s far too forward, especially when they are not formally courting, and the chaperone would probably throw something at him. So instead, he takes Dana’s offered hand and kisses the back of it. It’s an awfully long kiss, long enough for Dana to blush and the chaperone to clear her throat. “Until next time,” he tells her, and she nods and stammers out something similar before the carriage leaves.

He enters the house and goes up the stairs, and Carlos is just where Cecil saw him, straightening up. “Good afternoon, Carlos.”

“Afternoon, sir,” Carlos says, giving him a polite nod.

“I just came back from a meeting with Miss Adams.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. It went _very_ well. She’s wonderful.”

Carlos makes a soft hum of acknowledgement at that, not even looking up, and it makes Cecil angry. He doesn’t know why.

“She’s beautiful, like an early spring morning,” he says. It’s true, even if the thought of her out of her clothes makes Cecil a little sick. “I don’t know why I was ever hesitant about her. We’re probably going to get married.”

“I’m very happy for you, sir.”

Cecil wants to stamp his foot, _look_ at me, Goddamn it! “Everything before this was…inconsequential. Meaningless. Mistakes.” _You were a mistake_ , he means to say, and he’s not sure if that’s really right or not but if Carlos can just push him away in disgust, he can hurt Carlos too.

Not that Carlos hurt him. That would imply that Cecil had feelings for the man, which he so definitely _didn’t_.

He stands there for a few more moments, watching Carlos work with about a million things on the tip of his tongue. “That’s not cleaned very well,” is all that comes out. “Do it over.”

Carlos finally glances up at him then. “Sir?”

“I said do it over,” Cecil repeats, and leaves.

* * *

 

His hand presses against the cover of the book, like the knowledge will seep through and into his system. “Odi et amo,” he murmurs, eyes closed. “Quare id- quare id- fa- Oh, this blasted language!” He throws the book at that, not even looking over to where he heard it hit the dresser.

His temper has been getting worse and worse, because when he’s not angry, he’s scared, and that won’t do. Anger is easier. Especially around Carlos. His traitorous mind won’t stop replaying the kiss, or the abhorrence on Carlos’ face. And his dreams have not let up- oh no, now that he knows what it’s like to have Carlos’ lips on his, they’ve just become more vivid.

Speak of the devil and he’s sure to appear. Carlos enters the room, taking care to be quiet, no doubt due to Cecil’s recent outbursts. He picks up the book, makes sure it’s alright, and sets it by Cecil’s elbow soundlessly, before going to the other end of the room to busy himself with the task of putting Cecil’s other books in the shelf.

Cecil glares at the book but opens it to the correct page. “Faciam.” That was the word. Now what comes next? “Damn this- this Catullus 85! What has it to do with me anyway? And how should I be able to memorize it? It’s absurd! Impossible!”

“Catullus 85?” Carlos asks softly, head tilted ever so slightly.

“Yes. Why?”

“No reason.”

He goes back to his work, but just before Cecil lets his mind drift again, he hears Carlos murmuring “Odi et amo. Quare id faciam fortasse requiris…”

“What was that?” Cecil’s head snaps up so quickly he thinks he might have sprained something, but that’s not important right now.

“Nothing, sir.” Carlos doesn’t turn towards him.

Cecil angles himself in his chair so he’s facing Carlos’ back. “That wasn’t nothing. What did you say?”

Carlos looks up at that, a little sheepishly. “It was the first part of Catullus 85, sir.”

“And you know it? The whole thing?”

“Yes, sir, I suppose I do.”

Cecil stands, towering over Carlos who is still kneeling down by his books. “Then you wouldn’t mind reciting it for me, would you?”

The valet looks uneasy, probably at the sharp edge in Cecil’s voice. “I don’t think-”

“Oh, no, by all means, do show me. I insist.”

Carlos stands, taking a deep breath. “Odi et amo. Quare id faciam fortasse requiris, nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.”

Cecil’s hands ball into fists at his sides. “ _How_. Do you know that?” More to the point, how does _Carlos_ , a _servant_ who rejected him- anyway, how does he know that when Cecil, a _viscount_ , doesn’t?

“I- I simply connect the Latin words with their English meanings and memorize the English. I find it’s easier. Odi et amo- I hate and I love- Quare id faciam- why do I do this-”

“No, that’s not what I _meant_ ,” Cecil says, taking a step towards Carlos. “How do you know this at all? You haven’t had formal schooling in years. You’ve said you don’t know Latin.”

“Well, not fluently, not like I know my other tongues. I just- sometimes, when I have time to myself and you’re busy, I look through your books, and you’ve been studying Latin lately so I just thought I’d attempt to-”

“I _never_ said you could use my books.” Cecil is simmering with rage now. It’s not _fair_. None of this is fair. How is he left to suffer so on his own while Carlos is still so put together, so unflappable? Why isn’t Carlos as rattled by the kiss as he is? It isn’t fair that Cecil is the only one going through this torment and unable to speak about it, and now the other man is better than him at education as well. He wants to see Carlos unquiet for once, distressed like he’s distressed, wants to know that he felt _something_ , _anything_ during that brief moment of contact. He wants to hurt Carlos in the way that he’s hurt him, wants him to pay for the wicked things his dream-self does to Cecil.

Carlos looks taken aback. “I didn’t think you’d mind, sir.”

“Don’t you _ever_ go through my books again.” He’s barking the words at Carlos now, barely containing himself, but holding back because he doesn’t know if he’d throw a fist or try to chase the delicious taste of Carlos’ mouth. “You’re a servant. Know your place! Do you understand?”

At first, Carlos only blinks at him, but then the mask that Cecil knows all too well slides into place. That unreadable, expressionless visage. “Yes.”

Cecil walks closer, expecting Carlos to step back. Instead, he doesn’t budge, matching Cecil’s stare with an equally intense one of his own. “Yes _what_?” Cecil yearns to destroy that calm, make Carlos feel as he feels.

“Yes _sir_.” There’s venom dripping from the word, even if Carlos’ face doesn’t change.

Cecil seethes, and Carlos’ eyes are heavy on him, making him want to press closer and demand something unspeakable.

He retreats, scared at his own desires and still bubbling with anger. “I suppose the papers are right,” he says, almost as an afterthought- _Carlos got the last word when he pushed you away, he won’t get it this time too_. “We shouldn’t allow colored people to be educated. It just makes them uppity.”

He stalks out the door then, gets all the way to the library before he starts shaking, and manages to duck inside before he presses a hand to his mouth to contain the horrified shriek. He can’t believe he said such things. That was…that was his father’s views coming out of his mouth, and the thought makes him want to gargle with lye.

Oh, merciful God above, what was he becoming? Carlos was his oldest and best friend, and he had just been horrible to him. Yelled at him for reading his books, demanded a _sir_ when he usually encouraged the valet to use his first name, and had said that he shouldn’t be educated. That isn’t right, especially not for Carlos. The man is smarter than Cecil!

He drops back against the door, staring despondently at his feet. He’s falling apart, one piece at a time. Soon there won’t be anything left of Cecil Palmer.

* * *

 

Carlos avoids him for nearly a week. He’s around, yes, dressing and undressing Cecil, cleaning up after him, serving him tea, all of the usual things. But he doesn’t talk to Cecil like he used to. He barely talks to him at all, actually. Only what he needs to say to get by, and always followed by _sir_. “Yes, sir.” “No, sir.” “I’ll attend to it, sir.” Every one of them makes Cecil want to flinch, makes him feel guilty, and after long enough, he starts feeling irritated by it.

Yes, he lashed out at Carlos and said…some things he regrets. But didn’t Carlos bring it on himself, just- _flaunting_ himself like that with no mind to the temptation it brought Cecil? He could have at least been a little more gentle when refusing Cecil’s kiss, which doesn’t matter because that was just temporary madness, _right_? Now Cecil can’t control his temper or his words or his dreams and he hates himself a little which he’s sure must be Carlos’ fault somehow.

He’s been spending more and more time in his room, too. He doesn’t feel like company. Not when there are these secrets and bad feelings flooding his heart. He feels as if one of them might crawl out his throat unexpectedly.

There’s a tap at the door. Carlos, looking down at Cecil with dull suspicion. The viscount realizes where he is- sitting on the floor against his bedframe- and has no idea how he got here or how long he’s been staring into space. “Yes?”

“Your mother wishes to know when you’re meeting with Dana again, sir.”

Ugh. That is the last thing Cecil wants to deal with right now. He stands up, smoothing the wrinkles out of his clothes. “I’ll talk to her about it later.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Carlos, wait.” The last time he said these words he could still feel the warmth from Carlos’ mouth and the other man had not listened to him. But this time he does, stopping just a footstep away from the still-closed door. “I- I’m-“ There are so many things Cecil wants to say. Apologies. Explanations. Accusations. _Why do I feel like this? Why do you entrance me?_ “What do you think? About Dana and I getting married?”

“I don’t think anything, sir.”

“Come on, give me your opinion.”

“You don’t want my opinion, sir.” It’s said casually, like it’s a fact, but it carries seriousness.

Cecil huffs out a breath, rapidly losing control. He hates that Carlos can take him apart like this without even trying. Carlos has to know what he’s doing, standing like that in a pose that just accentuates his broad shoulders, taunting Cecil. That- that three-penny-upright! “It’s not your place to tell me what I want, Carlos! Now give me your honest opinion!”

“Honestly I don’t like what she’s done to you.” It comes out in a rush, and there’s more, all rapid-fire speaking like he’ll never get another chance to talk. “Ever since you two met, you aren’t the man you used to be. You’re someone else, and since you asked for _honesty,_ I don’t like who you’ve become.”

Cecil is stunned. Carlos looks equally shaken, and steps backwards. “My apologies, sir, I shouldn’t have said that. I’ll just…leave.”

Carlos is at the door when Cecil gets his voice back. He’s hurt, deeply hurt, that Carlos doesn’t- doesn’t like him anymore, doesn’t even want to be around him. It only takes a tick of the clock for the hurt to turn into rage. “I don’t need some dago to criticize my life!”

The slur is ugly on his tongue, and even more so once it passes his lips. Carlos freezes with his hand on the door handle, back muscles tensing. He turns, and there is fire behind his eyes. “Say that again. Go on, say it again, you spoiled rich little _brat_.”

Brat? Cecil mouths the word, anger and…something else entirely smoldering inside him at the sight of Carlos now facing him with perfect white teeth bared. It’s filling his mind so he can’t think straight. “How _dare_ you speak to me like that? You have no right. You don’t understand anything! You’re just an ignorant servant! I don’t know why I got you those science books, because I doubt you can even understand them!” He’s yelling. When did he start yelling?

Carlos is in his face now, snarling, and Cecil can feel the warmth radiating from his body so close, can smell his cologne. It’s heady, inebriating. The tension he normally gets from contact with Carlos has an outlet now through his ire, and it takes full advantage. He gives Carlos the darkest glare he can muster, even if he has to tilt his head up a little to make eye contact.

“I don’t understand? Let me tell you something, _sir_ ,”Carlos growls. “You think you can do whatever you want with absolutely no mind to the consequences. You’re self-centered, egotistical, and you can’t do a damn thing for yourself. You’ve had years of education that you just _wasted_ , and now you’re marrying some girl you don’t even love for the sake of reputation! I, a common _servant_ , have significantly more sense that you _ever_ will. At least if I had been born in your situation I would be making better of myself.”

Cecil is shaking, adrenaline running through his veins like lightning. “You never would have been a scientist, even if you had been born higher. You’re too _stupid_ for it.”

Carlos’ stare has weight, pinning him down, suffocating him. “Shut your insolent mouth. _Now_.”

The viscount is playing with fire, he knows this. Still, he rises up on the tips of his feet to look Carlos square in the eyes as he whispers “Make me.”

A heartbeat where everything hangs, suspended in the moment. Then Carlos’ eyes flash, and Cecil is being pushed back by strong hands, stumbling backwards and tripping, landing against his desk where the edge digs painfully into the small of his back. He opens his mouth to ask _Carlos what are you doing what are you going to do to me_ but then Carlos is pressed against him, hands on his shoulders, pushing until Cecil’s flat on his back and then kicking his legs apart.

Cecil’s mind is buzzing a mile a minute _why am I not pushing him away oh he feels so good touching me what is he doing_ and then Carlos thrusts his hips hard against Cecil’s, a burst of friction stealing the breath from Cecil’s lungs and bringing his mind to a screeching halt, blank except for _oh._

“Car- _Ah!_ ” The word ends in a gasp as Carlos bucks forwards again, sending white-hot sparks up Cecil’s spine. Except this time, he doesn’t stop, just begins a steady rhythm that has Cecil closing his eyes tightly, clinging desperately at the _sweethotgood_ sensations that rise and fall with the rolling of Carlos’ hips.

“ _Cecil_.” Carlos’ breath is hot against his cheek, and Cecil opens his eyes to see the other man above him, still glowering even as his cheeks darken and his curls sway as he rocks back and forth. “You don’t understand _anything_. Don’t you get that there are _consequences_ to the things you do?” It’s punctuated by a particularly sharp thrust that pulls a low moan out of Cecil’s throat. He’s never heard himself make that noise before. He’s never felt this exquisite torture before, so good and yet he’s left burning, aching for more. His fingers close tightly around the edge of the desk and he holds on for dear life as his rational mind is quickly overwhelmed by the dark wonderful feeling. He’s panting, letting out little broken whimpers and moans.

Oh, sweet merciful Jesus, the terrible rising heat from his dreams is wrapping around him, coiling him like a spring, pulling him tight like a rubber band ready to snap.  “ _Carlos!_ ” He finally manages to say, though it comes out as more of a plead than anything else, especially with the way he’s arching his back.

Carlos’ hand is on Cecil’s thigh- _yes touch me please oh_ \- and he grabs it roughly, hikes it up around his waist and _grinds_ down. The new angle is electric, and Cecil cries out. “Carlos, please! Don’t stop, oh pl- mmph!”

The hand is on his mouth now, covering it, but Cecil’s leg stays where it is, even presses Carlos in closer because _oh_ yes that’s so good _so good_. “Shut up,” Carlos hisses. “The whole house will hear you.”

It’s oddly erotic, the weight of Carlos’ hand over Cecil’s mouth as he continues to rut against him. Something faraway in Cecil registers that behind it he’s still moaning like a common whore. Something closer realizes that this feeling, all-consuming and like fire, is pleasure. He can’t bring himself to care, not when his arms are shaking and his breath is uneven. His own hips are bucking erratically against Carlos, and every so often they’ll line up just right and the resulting flash of pleasure makes Cecil’s eyes roll back in his head.

He opens his mouth instinctually, searching, and draws two of Carlos’ fingers in with his tongue, sucking at the digits automatically. Carlos’ eyes widen with surprise and lust, and his next exhale stutters out as he stares at Cecil like he contains the mysteries of the cosmos. Cecil likes that look directed at him. He tries to show Carlos, hollowing his cheeks and giving the fingers a few slow licks. Carlos groans, low and hoarse, and Cecil can feel it rumbling against his chest. It might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

Carlos thrusts harder, _harder_ , and the momentum has the fingers in Cecil’s mouth sliding in and out a little, and that’s nice too. The desk is creaking under them. The weight in Cecil’s lower stomach is getting heavier with each push and he’s grabbing at Carlos’ shoulders just to anchor himself because- oh, that- because-

His valet leans down, never stopping the harsh tempo, breathing raggedly as his forehead touches Cecil’s. “My God, Cecil,” he pants, “what have you _done_ to me?”

Carlos, saying his name in a voice heavy with desire, because that’s what it is, isn’t it, that’s what it’s always been, and these rough thrusts are the culmination, the climax, the- oh- _oh- **oh!**_

Cecil’s vision whites out, and he might be screaming Carlos’ name muffled against his fingers. The pleasure crests over him, all of him, and he’s sure he’s going to die. No mortal man can take this. It’s too much, entirely too much, and his body is jerking underneath Carlos, still craving that sweet touch.

When he comes back into himself, he feels numb. Loose. Blissful. Carlos has taken his hand out of his mouth, and now he groans Cecil’s name like a deity, shuddering, and Cecil realizes this is Carlos’ own high of pleasure. His face is stunning at this moment. Cecil wants to commit it to memory forever.

Carlos goes still, supporting himself on trembling arms above the viscount. His eyes are shut as his breathing evens out. Cecil smiles, lazily, feeling- well, feeling dreamish and satiated for the first time in months. He turns his head, presses a kiss to the inside of Carlos’ forearm.

The other man seems to awaken at that. Brown eyes snap open, looking down at Cecil with an unreadable expression. A note of anxiety breaks through Cecil’s warm daze- Carlos doesn’t look happy. This is only reinforced when Carlos pulls back like he’s been burned, backing away and shaking his head.

“Carlos?” Cecil asks uneasily, getting to his feet. He’s still positively boneless, and his knees won’t stop wobbling, so he grabs the desk for support.

“Cecil, I- Sir- I never-” Carlos rakes a hand through his hair, shaking his head more frantically now. “I am so _sorry_.”

He’s gone before Cecil can respond, out of the room like a bat out of hell. Cecil is left standing there, blinking at the place where Carlos had just been standing a moment ago. He wants to run after him. He wants to pull him down and do the entire thing again, once he gets his breath back. He wants explanations. He wants-

He wants Carlos.

The sudden epiphany hits him like a slap in the face, and he has to sit. He falls on the soft surface of his bed, mind still fuzzy from before, sleep beckoning to him. He wants Carlos. This...oh, wow. This might change things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the smut.
> 
> Tune in next time for Carlos continuing to deny everything and Cecil deciding no, we've had enough of that.
> 
> The blog is [ here](http:/floating-cats.tumblr.com). Come on by for sneak peeks, drabbles, a ton of Night Vale fanart reblogs, or just to chat. Come huddle with us!


	4. Mother, Gin, and The Confession

When Cecil wakes up, it’s much later than normal. Sun streams into the room, pooling on the floor. He’s still in his clothes from last night, and he makes a face when he moves. He feels…kind of gross, and a little sore from being bent over like he was.

Where is Carlos? The man usually wakes him up and gets him dressed, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Cecil wanted to talk with him, too. Last night was…overwhelming, but probably the best thing that Cecil had ever felt. He wants to experience it without the anger, with Carlos smiling warmly at him, with the gentle slide of skin on skin and soft embraces. He shivers at the thought, and shakes his head to clear it.

He dresses himself and spends extra time making sure his hair looks acceptable before he sets out. As he walks past the dining room, a voice stops him. “Cecil, come here.”

It’s his mother, and he really wishes he had taken the other way around. It’s not that he doesn’t get along with her; he really does. He’s just anxious to find Carlos and talk about what happened, now that his feelings are sliding into place and everything is beginning to make sense.

“I really can’t, mother, I have something I need to-”

“What’s so important you need to do it right now?” He can’t think of an answer that isn’t _finding my valet and kissing him breathless_ , so he sighs dejectedly and takes a seat next to her. “I thought as much.”

“What is it?” Cecil drums his fingers on the table impatiently.

“Have you eaten yet today? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you missing meals.”

“I’ve just been busy. My studies, and everything.”

She pushes the toast towards him and he picks up a piece, if only to mollify her. However, upon actually eating, the appetite that was taken away by his emotional turmoil comes roaring back and he finds himself devouring anything placed in front of him. His mother smiles behind her teacup. “I could tell. A mother knows.”

A few minutes pass where she just allows him to eat, signaling the wait staff to bring more tea. “So, Cecil,” she says at last, “what’s been happening that’s had you in a tizzy lately?”

“Uh,” he says ineloquently. He can’t tell her about what’s _really_ been going on, so he settles on a half-truth. “I haven’t been doing as well with my schooling as I’d like to.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been…distracted.”

“By?”

Cecil remembers that when he was younger, his mother was his confidant. Even while she was busy and he was raised primarily by servants, she would still take time out of her evening to see him. _How was your day, sweetheart?_ She was the one that insisted Cecil get a valet that was near his age so that he would not be lonely, shut away in these empty rooms. He told her everything, from his bad dreams to the books he liked to how Carlos was his new best friend, and she just smiled warmly and accepted all of it. The warmth in her smile is duller now, hidden in weariness and years, and her eyes no longer sparkle like they used to, and Cecil no longer tells her of his life.

He’s overwhelmed by sadness at the fact and his bite of bread sticks in his throat. It takes a few tries to swallow it, and she’s still watching him carefully, waiting for his response. “Nothing,” he says, and it crushes him inside. “Nothing at all. Just daydreaming.”

“You get that from my side,” she says. Cecil can tell there’s something else she wants to ask him, so he waits for her to speak. “Have you arranged another meeting with Dana?”

He stares at his fingers because he can’t look her in the eye. “Not yet. I’m planning to.”

“You’d better, or some other young bachelor might just step in.” A long, uncomfortable silence. Then his mother’s cool hand covering his. “Cecil, do you like her?”

“Dana? Of course I do.” She looks unconvinced. “She’s nice, very sweet, as beautiful as the day is long. She loves reading as much as I do, and she even shares my affinity for fantasy. She’s strong-willed, but polite and well-behaved. She’d make a lovely wife, in the end.”

His mother’s expression is skeptical, and he doesn’t blame her. He can’t lie as well as he needs to right now. He doesn’t have the energy to.

“Cecil.”

“Hm?”

“Just…promise me something, would you?”

“What?”

She looks at him, and he sees eternity in her gaze. “Choose right when you marry.”

He can only blink at that, confused. “Of course I will. I wouldn’t dream of marrying someone not of proper breeding, or not of our type. Dana is-”

“Yes, yes, do all of that. But choose _right_. You only get one chance.” She leans in, and Cecil feels that she’s trying desperately to express something, but he’s missing it. “Once you commit to her, you must _commit_. Do you understand?

And all at once, he does. “Yes, mother.”

“You can’t imagine- of course you can’t, you’re a man- but to a woman, her marriage is everything. It’s- it’s all we have.” Her voice is small, and Cecil feels an unexpected flash of anger towards his father.

“I promise,” he says, and he means it. He’s always meant it.

She smiles again, but this time she doesn’t try to hide the tiredness. “Go on then.” Her hand waves airily. “I know you young men, always with some scheme. Go, I won’t hold you any longer.”

He nods gratefully, and takes his leave as quickly as he can.

And promptly collides with Carlos.

“Oh!” His hands flatten against a still not-quite-familiar chest, with the all-too-familiar scent of cologne surrounding him. “Carlos! I was- I was just looking for you!”

“Cecil- Sir,” Carlos corrects himself, pulling his arms stiffly back to his sides from where they had automatically reached out to steady the other man. Cecil only got to feel their weight on his hips for a second, and he misses it already.

“You, ah- you didn’t wake me this morning,” Cecil says, because there are _so many things_ he wants to say but they can’t all get out of his mouth at once.

“My apologies, sir. I thought you could use the extra sleep, considering you haven’t been getting much lately. Was I out of place?”

“Oh, no, no, that’s fine. It’s…thoughtful, really.”

“Thank you, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me…” He darts around Cecil like he has the plague and hurries down the hallway.

Cecil pursues him, half-jogging to keep up. “So, Carlos, regarding what happened last night, I think-”

“Nothing happened last night.” Carlos doesn’t look back, doesn’t slow down.

It knocks Cecil off-balance for a moment. Nothing…? But he distinctly remembers Carlos’ hands on his shoulders (and in his mouth, _oh_ ), Carlos pressed against him, Carlos moaning in his ear. “No, Carlos, I mean when we were fighting, and then I was on the desk and you-”

“Nothing happened,” Carlos says, a little more forcefully.

Cecil is beginning to get annoyed now. “It wasn’t _nothing_ , Carlos. I’ve never done any-”

Carlos whirls around, stopping Cecil short. “ _Nothing happened,_ ” he says in a voice just above a whisper. There’s a certain feral quality in his eyes that shocks Cecil into silence. He holds Cecil’s gaze for a moment, searching for something, and Cecil has no idea if he finds it or not because he leaves then, and this time Cecil doesn’t follow.

* * *

 

_Carlos’ breath is warm against Cecil’s neck, and the viscount all but purrs as he arches up into the touch. Carlos’ hips are rocking gently, bringing pleasure slowly and sweetly to the surface._

_“Cecil,” he murmurs, sliding his hands down Cecil’s sides._

_It’s wonderful, this unhurried passion, all exploration and affection. Carlos kisses him, and oh, it’s fantastic, but it’s not enough. “Carlos,” Cecil says against his lips, “I want you.”_

_Cecil can feel his smile before he pulls away, and then his hands are going down to Cecil’s thighs, pulling them apart. He finds the laces on his pants, begins to undo them with a wicked expression, and then-_

He gasps awake, staring at the ceiling. It’s dark, with only the light of the moon keeping the night from truly being pitch black. He’s sweating, though the March night isn’t all that cold, and he’s positively aching between his legs.

Muffling an exasperated groan, he rolls over and buries his face in his pillow. Blast these dreams! Even since he found out what it was like to experience that kind of pleasure, they just won’t give him respite. Every night, it’s Carlos’ voice and Carlos’ hands and Carlos’ body, even when the real valet won’t even look Cecil in the eye or talk about what happened that night.

He shifts, putting pressure on where he’s still hot and needy, and the unexpected pleasure makes him close his eyes. He can’t sleep like this. Maybe…? No.

But still. He moves so he’s lying on his back once again, and rests one of his hands on his chest. Slowly, so slowly, he pulls it lower, feeling anxious even as he reaches the top of his pants. This isn’t right. It’s not something gentlemen do. But when he finally gets the nerve to dip under the fabric and tentatively touch himself, _oh_ , he doesn’t care if it’s not right, because it feels _great_.

He pumps his hand up and down, hesitantly at first, then faster. Oh, god. His head falls to the side and he huffs out a breath, hips rising gently into the touch. The tingling and heat rising in his stomach are similar to when Carlos was rubbing against him-

Oh. _Carlos._ Unbidden, he’s struck with a mental picture of Carlos in bed with him, eyes dark and smile promising, his hand wrapped around Cecil instead of his own. He chokes on a groan, and his eyes flutter shut. Carlos’ hand, moving up and down, teasing these sensations from Cecil, playing him like an instrument. “Cecil,” he’d say, “does this feel good? Do you like this?” And Cecil would nod, or maybe just whimper like he’s doing now, because his mind is flickering in and out among the waves of pleasure.

He brushes past an extremely sensitive area and his back arches, a moan finding its way out before he can catch it. “Oh, god, Carlos!” Panting, he shoves the knuckle of his index finger on the hand _not_ currently occupied between his teeth to suppress any further noises.

Would Carlos like his voice when they were together? Would he encourage it, draw every little pleasured mewl and whine out of Cecil? Or would he prefer to keep Cecil silent, lips pressed together so that he could swallow the sounds before they hit the air?

Did Carlos…did Carlos ever touch himself like this? What if he thought of Cecil as he was doing it? What if, right this very minute, Carlos was lying on his bed in his room in the servant’s quarters, picturing Cecil with him, head thrown back with pleasure and legs apart-

Cecil’s breath stops completely as his climax takes him by surprise. It’s lucky that Carlos had brought him to this point before, because otherwise he might be very convinced he was dying as he shakes through it. As it is, there’s a muffled “Nngh!” and his toes curl into the sheets. He trembles, afterward, and wipes his hand on his pants. There’s the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and when he looks at the other hand he realizes he bit down hard enough to break the skin during the thick of it.

He feels…he isn’t sure how he feels. It was satisfying, surely, but now he’s just…lonely. His bed feels twice as empty and cold. Possibly even more than earlier, he wishes Carlos was with him, if only for the fact that they could curl up together and share this long, lonely night.

Sleep doesn’t come easy.

* * *

 

Carlos isn’t talking to him.

It’s a cause of endless frustration to Cecil, because wasn’t that one night a week ago enough to alert Carlos of his own feelings? It was more than enough to get Cecil to come to his senses, and Carlos is usually so much quicker on the uptake than him. The last time Carlos refused to talk to him was because Cecil had been stressed and hadn’t really handled it the best way and had said some things-

Oh. The last time they’d really communicated, Cecil had yelled at him. Called him- Oh, dear. No wonder Carlos doesn’t want to talk. He’s probably still upset with him! Cecil needs to show him that he isn’t a callous brute, to use all that etiquette he was raised with.

That’s it. That’s how one woos a gentleman. Civility. Politeness. A hint of seduction. Cecil will apologize, make nice, and then…maybe a promise of more. He’s never tried to be sultry before, but he’s fairly sure he can manage.

He finds Carlos in Cecil’s room, putting away a few clothes. “Sir,” the valet says, nodding respectfully in his direction.

“Carlos.” Cecil feels a trill of excitement run through him, but he masks it carefully as he walks over to his dresser where the man stands, and leans against it casually. “I wanted to say something.”

“Regarding what, sir? I can’t really talk, I need to be somewhere-”

“About last week-”

“Noth-”

“When we fought,” he says firmly, and Carlos looks at him uneasily. He’s already stepped away from the dresser, and Cecil can see him planning his escape.

“Sir, I really must be gone.”

“I said…some things,” Cecil says. It’s harder to say than he thought, but it makes Carlos stop in his retreat. “I didn’t mean them. I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you’re actually very clever. And when I called you- _that_ \- I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just a little overly stressed, and I suppose I took it out on you. That’s- that’s my father’s word, not mine. I regret saying it, and I apologize.”

“Sir, I-” He seems to be searching for words. “Thank you. I might have spoken from anger as well. I certainly did not mean much of what I said.”

Cecil smiles then, genuinely. There, the air is cleared, and they’re past the bad feelings. Now… “The other thing we a little while ago, that-”

“Nothing happened, and I really do have to-”

“I’m speaking of when we were discussing your anatomy textbook, of course, what _else_ would it be?”

Carlos is caught off guard, blinking at Cecil. “…Right. Of course.”

“It’s just that, well, it was really _interesting_ , hearing the name of the bones in my body, and we got cut off so soon last time. I was thinking you could continue.” He places his arms behind him, leaning back and arching ever so slightly, parting his legs and looking at Carlos under his eyelashes. An invitation.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Carlos swallow, hard, and has to fight the urge to smirk. “I don’t know…”

“Oh, _please_ , Carlos?” He purrs. “I was learning quite a bit, I think. It’s just more _real_ when you’re showing me. Won’t you at least do a little more?”

A shiver goes down Carlos’ spine and Cecil pretends not to notice. “I…I suppose. Where did I leave off…?”

“Here.” Cecil brings a hand up, presses it against his chest, lets it trail away and watches Carlos’ eyes follow its path. “The sternum. See? I remember.”

“Right. Right.” Carlos comes closer, and Cecil lets his legs fall apart so that he’s forced to step between them. “I guess next would be the, um, the ribs, the true ribs and the floating ribs…”

His hands come up to Cecil’s sides, but they don’t drop there, don’t give Cecil the touch he’s anticipating and craving. Instead they hover there, just above making contact, and Cecil can feel the heat radiating against him. Carlos’ head is down, looking at his own hands, and Cecil realizes that they’re shaking. Suddenly this seems a lot less enjoyable. “Carlos?”

The valet backs away, shaking his head. Cecil is alarmed to see that Carlos’ eyes, when he finally looks at him, are glossy with unshed tears. “I can’t,” he says, not even trying to keep his voice from trembling anymore. “I’m sorry sir, I just…can’t.”

He turns on his heel and rushes out, and Cecil is staring after him. Carlos gets that upset when Cecil tries to be flirtatious? Or is it at the thought of touching him? Oh, lord. He presses the heel of his hand against his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back against his own prickling of tears. Carlos is revolted by him. What happened last week must have been nothing but a fluke, spurred by anger, a willing body to work out his tensions against.

How could Cecil have been such a fool? How could have he overthought things like this? Carlos didn’t want him. Of course he didn’t. He was so perfect, with his immaculate hair and white teeth and graceful form, and Cecil was just… _Cecil_. Pale and lanky and not desirable at all. How could he have mistaken rage-induced lust as some sort of genuine attraction?

He sinks to his knees, one hand gripping the edge of the dresser, the other still against his forehead, pressing harder as he wills himself to stop it, stop this _feeling_ , stop _right this instant_ , it hurts too much.

Back on Christmas, when he was emotionally shattered, Carlos had given him champagne, had held it up to his lips and told him to drink until he was calm. That’s…that’s what he needs right now. To be calm. He needs liquor, and lots of it.

* * *

 

The ceiling is moving, and it’s impossibly funny. Cecil can’t stop giggling, smothering the laughter behind his hand lest he wake his parents. This is the best idea he’s ever had. Forget stupid Carlos and his stupid nice body and his stupid sweet smile, Cecil doesn’t need him. He’s never needed him.

“I shoul’ talk t’ Dana,” he says, sitting up abruptly. It makes his head spin so he grabs at the edge of the table to steady himself. A little late, he realizes his words were slurred, and he repeats them in the effort to make himself presentable. “I shhh-ould talk. To Dana. Yeah. ‘S a great idea. Should…marry her, ‘n make lots of babies.” Babies is a weird word, and he’s laughing again, leaning heavily against the wall. He lifts the bottle clasped in his hand and takes a long swig, humming happily as it pleasantly warms his insides and brings a blissful rush of release from his worries. The liquid tasted awful at first, but it doesn’t anymore. Cecil’s not quite sure if he got used to it, or if he just stopped tasting altogether.

There’s a tapping noise, and for a minute Cecil can’t figure out where it’s coming from. Then he realizes it’s coming from the door, and he brushes a hand down his front, straightens his lapels, and calls, positive he sounds completely sober, “What is it?”

The door creaks open, and Carlos slips inside before shutting it behind him. “Sir, is everything alright? It’s very late.”

“Don’t you worry ‘bout me, love, I’m just fine.”

“Are you sure? You’re swaying. I-” He moves closer, then recoils. “I can smell the alcohol from here!”

“Observant, aren’t we?” Cecil grins at him, stepping away from the wall. He overestimates his own feet and stumbles a bit, but there are warm arms holding him up, and Carlos is right there, and Carlos is spinning a little too, which is also pretty damn funny.

He can’t help the laugh that bubbles up, and he presses his face against Carlos’ collarbone as it spills out of his mouth. “You’re drunk,” Carlos says.

Cecil chortles in response. “Only a little. I’m mostly sober, it’s fine.”

“You are not ‘mostly sober’, you can’t even walk in a straight line! What are you drinking?”

“Gin. ‘S good. Well, it wasn’t good at first, but ‘s good now.”

“Gin? That stuff will kill you.”

“Then let it kill me!” He barks, pulling away from Carlos. But the room is unsteady, and before he knows what’s happening Carlos has taken hold of his arms just above his elbows, keeping him on his feet. “I…I didn’t like it,” he says, pressing against Carlos again.

“Didn’t like what, sir, the gin?”

“No. I didn’t like…feeling. Remembering. Didn’t want t’ remember. So I stopped.” He lifts the bottle to his lips again, but the drink barely hits his tongue before it’s pulled from his fingers. “Hey!”

“You’ve had more than enough.”

“Don’ tell me when I’ve had enough.” He makes a grab for it but he’s uncoordinated and Carlos simply sets it behind them. “You think you’re so great wi’h your…hair and…face. God, you’re so attractive and I _hate it_.” He nuzzles against Carlos’ neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell s’ good though.”

“Sir, I think-” He breaks off, hissing a breath through his teeth as Cecil laps at his pulse to see if he tastes as good as he smells. The hand that had been on Cecil’s hair, probably to pull him off, tightens involuntarily, and Cecil moans unashamedly against Carlos’ skin at the feel of it. “Sir, I- Oh.” Cecil kisses his way up Carlos’ jawline, licking as the mood strikes him. “Sir, no.” Then Cecil is being pushed away, turned around, and steered towards his bed with one hand on his hip and the other on his shoulder. “Go to bed.”

Cecil smiles widely, falling back on the bed and only having to take a minute to reorient himself after the motion makes him dizzy. He lays with his feet flat, bending his legs and spreading them slightly. He turns his head, looking alluringly at Carlos while his hands come up to unbutton his shirt, vest long since gone. “You desire me, don’ you, Carlos?”

Carlos looks at Cecil with mouth hanging open, a desperate, broken look in his eyes. “Sir, don’t.”

“You desire me, desire this.” He’s got the first few buttons at the top undone and he touches the smooth skin underneath, feeling intoxicated by power as well as alcohol as Carlos stares. “You can have me, ‘f you wish.”

He goes to undo a few more buttons, but Carlos’ hands catch his wrists and hold them tight. Cecil strains up, trying to capture his lips, but he stays out of reach, holding Cecil down. “Please, Cecil.” His voice is once again uneven, and slowly the easygoing feeling drains out of Cecil as he begins to feel like he’s done something wrong. “Don’t do this to yourself, and for the love of God, if you care about me at all, don’t do this to _me_.”

Cecil watches him as he tries in vain to pull himself back together. “Carlos?”

He clears his throat. “Cecil- Sir- you should try to sleep this off. Rest now.”

“Kiss me goodnight.”

Carlos freezes, looking at him with despair. “Sir, I…”

“Kiss me goodnight, an’ I’ll sleep an’ trouble you no more. Promise.”

Brown eyes meet blue, and the contact is held for an excruciatingly long period of time. Then Carlos leans down, slowly, ever so slowly, still keeping a hold on Cecil’s wrists that he seems to have forgotten about. Cecil allows his eyes to drift closed as he feels the warmth of Carlos’ breath on his lips.

But there’s no contact. Abruptly, Cecil is left cold and wanting as the warm vanishes from his hands, his mouth, everywhere. Carlos is backing away, closed off, yet humming with an anxious energy. “Go to sleep, sir. Have sweet dreams.”

Cecil feels like he’s underwater now, like he couldn’t protest even if the thought crossed his mind. On the way out, he sees Carlos pick up the bottle of gin and take a long drink.

* * *

 

Three days later, and Cecil is tearing his hair out.

He wishes that he’d forgotten everything that happened while he was spectacularly drunk, but he didn’t. He remembers Carlos’ lips _so close_ to touching his, remembers with shame the wanton way he’d offered himself up, like a night flower, remembers the way Carlos had looked scared, broken, defeated as he left. He’d been nursing a terrible hangover the next day and spent most of it sleeping or being sick, but the few times he’d seen Carlos the other man looked as if he was trying to avoid loud noises too.

He can’t _stand this anymore_. It’s eating him up inside. Carlos might be disgusted by him; he’s all but made peace with this fact. What he can’t make peace with is not knowing why. He needs to hear from Carlos’ own lips that he doesn’t want Cecil. Then maybe the dreams and the urges and these terrible sinful desires will _cease_.

The proper thing to do would be to bottle this up, pretend nothing ever happened, and allow it to be swept under the rug. But he’s _tried_ , and it’s slowly destroying him from the inside out.

Besides, since when has he ever been proper?

* * *

 

“If you could just help me with this one thing, that would be wonderful.”

“Of course, sir.” Carlos trails after him, quiet relief almost palpable at the fact that when Cecil had tracked him down it had just been to help him get a book from a tricky spot in the library, and not to try and talk again.

“It’s back here, very far back here. Almost no one ever comes this far.”

“Perhaps that’s why it’s hard to get the book, sir?”

“Perhaps.”

The library is a point of pride for the Palmers, despite the fact that hardly anyone uses it anymore. The shelves twist and turn in a veritable maze, and as Cecil and Carlos walk further and further into the literary labyrinth, it feels more like another place entirely. Like sound made here would easily be lost in the volumes between this place and the door.

In the very back corner of the library, behind an alcove, surrounded by books, Cecil finally stops. Carlos does too, looking around absentmindedly at the titles on the shelves. “Which book was it, sir?”

“There is no book.” Cecil stands before him plainly, no attempts at seduction or false rage or lies- just him. Just Cecil. It’s been awhile since he’s felt like that, and he thinks that was when things started going wrong.

“Sir?” Carlos frowns, brow knitted in confusion.

“I need- We need to talk, Carlos. About what’s happened. Certain things.”

He can see the barriers going up in Carlos’ set jaw and steeled eyes.  “Nothing happened, sir.”

“Stop _saying_ that!” Cecil says, not angry, just exasperated. “I can’t pretend anymore, Carlos. It’s killing me.” Carlos looks at him, and Cecil sees something flicker across his face. Concern. “Don’t lie to me and say it hasn’t been affecting you.”

Carlos shakes his head, hands clasped tightly behind his back. Cecil isn’t sure whether he means it hasn’t been affecting him, or he won’t lie and say it hasn’t, or maybe a denial of the discussion entirely. He thinks it might be the latter.

“It’s not nothing, Carlos. Not…” _Not to me._ “Say something. I feel like I’m going insane here in my own head.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.” It’s strained, but it’s not a rejection.

“I want you to stop running. I want you to talk to me like an adult, to actually stand here and have a damn conversation for once!”

The valet exhales deeply, eyes closing. “Why do you insist on pursuing this? Why can’t you just let it die?”

“It won’t die, and trust me, I have poisoned it in every way I can think of!”

“We shouldn’t even be speaking of…such things. I need to be elsewhere.” He walks off, towards the exit of the alcove, and Cecil knows that he’ll never get the courage to confront Carlos like this again. If he leaves, that’s it.

“ _No!_ ” Cecil lunges forward, grabs at Carlos’ shoulder. He misses, but Carlos turns around, and Cecil manages to get a grip on his shirt and pull him back. The momentum makes Cecil land with his back against a wall of books and Carlos’ arms automatically go up to catch himself, ending up on either side of Cecil’s head.

They stare at each other, both shocked by Cecil’s daring and in Cecil’s case, dazed by their close proximity. “No more running. No more leaving me alone, wondering if I’ve gone insane, or if you just hate me. No more acting like you don’t affect every part of me. I care about you deeply, Carlos!” Cecil says, hands fisted in Carlos’ shirt in case he tries to run again. “Love you, even.”

He didn’t realize until the words passed his lips that they were true, but they are. He doesn’t merely want Carlos, he loves him. Simply, plainly, irrevocably, loves him. Loves his face and his hair and his passion for science and the way he rolls his eyes when Cecil gets too outlandish; he loves everything that makes Carlos _Carlos_. “And I understand,” he says, voice shaking only a little, “if you don’t love me back, but-”

Carlos makes a distressed noise. “Don’t you think I’ve _tried_? Everything would be so much easier if I _didn’t_ love every eccentric, beautiful, irrational cell in your body!”

It hangs in the air between them. Carlos’ face completely drains of color, and he looks the same way he had when Cecil kissed him that day- surprised. Alarmed. Terrified.

“You love me?” It’s little more than a whisper, because Cecil can hardly believe it himself.

“More than the universe and the cosmos,” Carlos says, in the same reverent tone. “But Cecil, you don’t love me. Not really.”

“Yes I do! I love you…like…like I can’t contain it. It’s like you smile, and I just know.”

“No, you think love is this- this sweet, lovely thing, full of wonder and peace. That’s not how it is. Not with me.”

“But Carlos-” Cecil slides his hand up Carlos’ neck, pressing against his jaw.

Carlos catches his hand, brings it up to his lips. Cecil can feel them moving against his skin as he speaks. “You don’t understand Cecil. I would see you vulnerable and taken apart with pleasure, laid out and gasping. I would have all of you, mind, body, and soul. I already vehemently dislike having to share your company with Dana Adams- I would be jealous, possessive. I would have you be mine.”

“Yes,” Cecil says. “Yes to all. But will you be mine in return?”

“Oh, Cecil.” Carlos kisses his knuckles. “I’ve always been yours.”

It’s enough to send a small spark through Cecil’s arm and down his spine, and it’s enough for Cecil to pull Carlos in and kiss him, holding his breath that this time, he won’t pull away, won’t run. For a heart-stopping second, it appears that he’s going to do just that as he freezes against Cecil. But then _oh_ , he’s kissing Cecil _back_ , and Cecil had no idea that anything could be this wonderful. Carlos’ mouth moving on his, soft lips catching and sliding fantastically, the slightest hint of teeth against his lower lip making him gasp into the kiss. Carlos takes advantage of that and there’s a ghost of tongue just on the inside of his open mouth, which is something Cecil didn’t know he desperately wanted until right now. He parts his lips more, encouraging, and is rewarded with Carlos’ tongue mapping his mouth so intimately, stirring pleasure in places that Cecil didn’t know were sensitive. He winds one hand in Carlos’ perfect hair, the other still pulling Carlos close. The valet seems to have a similar idea, with a hold on the back of Cecil’s neck, as if Cecil would ever try to leave this.

Cecil arches up into the feeling, pressing as close to Carlos as he can possibly get. It’s a need, but it’s different from the need before when Carlos was angry and rutting against him. This is gentle, affectionate. If before had been like a wildfire, this is drowning, so slow and smooth that Cecil can’t bring himself to care if he stops breathing. Carlos has a hand on Cecil’s hip and he pushes up, just a little, enough to find bare skin and rub small circles on it with his thumb.

Eventually the need for oxygen does win out, and the pair separates, but not by more than an inch or two. Cecil keeps his grip in Carlos’ hair, and Carlos doesn’t let go of Cecil’s neck. After a moment of heavy breathing, Carlos leans in, forehead against Cecil’s.  “I was trying to avoid that.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I’m aware.” There’s a smile in his voice, and it makes Cecil grin in return. “What do you propose we do now? Not like that,” he says, laughing for the first time in weeks as Cecil raises his eyebrows suggestively. “With us. What do you propose we do about us?”

“Be mine,” Cecil says, finding Carlos’ hand at his side and intertwining their fingers. “And I’ll be yours. I love you and I don’t want to spend another minute apart.”

“I love you too,” Carlos says. The words seem foreign said out loud. “But we can’t be together. Not publicly. We’ll have to keep this completely secret. Not a word can get out.”

“Of course.”

“And your marriage…Dana…”

The joy in Cecil’s stomach takes a sick twist. “Let’s not discuss that now.”

Carlos sighs, pulls away, then seems to think twice and grabs Cecil’s face, pulling him in for a kiss that makes his toes curl. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

Cecil beams, feeling lighter than air. “I have some idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been brought to you by the morning after
> 
> Tune in next time when the boys are not quite as secretive as they should be, and smut. Definitely smut.
> 
> My blog is [here](http://floating-cats.tumblr.com). Come on by and say hello! I reblog a ton of Night Vale things, give sneak peeks, and talk with other WTNV fans. It's a fun time. I swear on all my hearts.


	5. Courting, Closets, and The Discovery

“You’re in a much better mood than last I saw you, Mr. Palmer.”

“Am I?” This might be an understatement. Cecil is practically humming with happiness. Three days ago Carlos had said that he loved him. Since then, it’s like all the anguish and tension of the past few months has completely melted away. He can sleep soundly once again, no longer tied up in knots over the feelings he’s had for far longer than he realized. The dreams that used to torment him have mostly stopped, and when he does have one, he easily takes care of the problem with the memory of Carlos’ hands on him in the library. He’s not irate anymore, his appetite has returned, and best of all is when Carlos looks at him he has this _glint_ in his eye, of affection and care and it makes Cecil feel warm in his chest.

Yesterday Carlos had pushed him up against the wood of his door and kissed him breathless. Cecil thinks that he shall never tire of kissing his valet. He loves running his hands through that flawless hair, loves the way Carlos tastes against him, like tea and mint, loves the way Carlos’ hands drift to his hips.

He realizes Dana is looking at him, expecting a response. He opens his mouth to generate a generic _yes, of course_ , but then he remembers last time, and he can’t stop the grin at the memory of her wit. “Were you talking about _Frankenstein_ again?”

She looks slightly surprised, then smiles wryly. “So you _were_ listening.”

“Oh, not at all,” Cecil says, waving a hand airily. “I’m terribly absentminded. I apologize. But I mean no disrespect! Come now, what were you saying? Discussing graverobbing, maybe? Or the benefits of starting an all-monster colony in Africa? Do tell.”

She laughs, and the sound is clear and bright, and Cecil is happy that she’s happy, and really life is just _wonderful_. “So enthusiastic all of the sudden!”

“How can I not be, on a day like this?” It has warmed enough for the pair to be taking a walk out by the river, chaperone trailing behind. The sun is shining, and it feels good on Cecil’s face. “And I really do enjoy your flights of fancy.”

Dana looks at him, smile dimming. “Oh, you just…think I’m being trivial, then?”

“No, no, no.” He takes one of Dana’s hands in both of his, ignoring the warning hum from the chaperone. “I simply mean, that, well-” He knows this isn’t proper, but he is elated with life at this moment, and Dana is such a dear, and he wants her to be as happy as he is. “So many young ladies- and, for that matter, young gentlemen- in this age are just so dull. So tedious. The women are supposed to be these slips of a person, like a ghost, just- sitting there and never offering a single opinion! I can’t imagine being with a nothing like that for my life, can you?” Dana’s eyebrows are raised, her lips parted in surprise. Cecil continues. “So, what I mean, is that I appreciate your individuality and imagination. Does that clarify?”

“Mr. Palmer,” she says, mouth gaping open. “That’s…”

The chaperone behind them clears her throat, and Cecil lets go of Dana’s hand. “So, what were you saying? About _Frankenstein_?”

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, and a sudden shyness seems to have come over her. Cecil isn’t sure why- Dana has been refined in the past, yes, but never shy! “It’s nothing. Nonsense.”

“I like nonsense,” he says hopefully.

Her lips press into a thin line, then she speaks. “I was simply debating the ethics of grave robbery if it is to be used for science.”

 _Science_ , and Cecil is reminded of Carlos and his science books, the way he named the bones in Cecil’s body, and the memory makes him feel like he’s glowing. “I like science.”

“Yes, well, I’m not sure if it’s worth desecrating graves,” she says, expression softening, one corner of her mouth quirking up.

“Oh, surely you recognize the fact that the bodies themselves are not holy! The land, yes, and the soul, truly. But hasn’t the soul already gone to heaven?”

“Mr. Palmer!” She says again, it’s almost a laugh, smiling like she can’t help it. “To disturb holy ground is certainly a grievous sin!”

“Folderol,” Cecil says, making a dismissive gesture. “Why, the individual isn’t using their body anymore. And if you’re using it to bring new life into the world, isn’t that sacred in and of itself?”

“The life you’re bringing into the world is monstrous and a killer!”

“The monster was perfectly reasonable until everyone turned their back on it!”

“Still, that doesn’t justify the use of corpses!”

“Oh, what’s one corpse, more or less?”

Their voices have risen over the course of the conversation, and at the last two remarks a gentleman with a graying mustache gives them a very strange look and walks past that much faster. Cecil and Dana watch him until he’s out of sight, then begin giggling giddily, like children. Dana attempts to cover her mouth with her hand, and primarily fails, and Cecil doesn’t even try.

Eventually their laughter dies down. Cecil wipes at his eyes, regaining his dignity. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Palmer,” Dana says, composing herself. “That wasn’t very ladylike of me.”

“Maybe it _should_ be considered ladylike,” Cecil says. “It can become common expected behavior.”

Dana grins. “All young ladies must be well-educated in childrearing, needlepoint, and the art of graverobbing.”

“Perfect! The women have decorated shovels encrusted with jewels, and the fathers must explain to their sons that it’s women’s work.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but is cut off by a loud “a-HEM” from the chaperone. Her face falls and she withdraws into the proper woman that Cecil knew before. He wishes she didn’t. He likes her when she’s lively. “Ugh,” she mutters under her breath, “my father is going to hear about this, I’m sure. It’s likely he won’t be happy.”  
“Why not?”

“Mr. Palmer, it’s not correct for women to go around talking about corpses and graverobbing. That’s why I have to hide my books.”

“Wasn’t the _author_ of _Frankenstein_ a woman?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t appreciate the irony. I can’t…I can’t be entirely angry with him. I see his point. Gentlemen don’t like ladies who talk of such things.”

“Pshaw,” Cecil says, and holds out his arm. “Come on, then; we won’t talk of corpses any longer. I’m sure we can think of a multitude of other things. We’re not so uncreative, are we?”

She takes his arm hesitantly. “There are more things on heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophies.”

“ _Frankenstein_ again?”

“ _Hamlet_ , actually.”

* * *

 

Cecil is still humming happily when he arrives back at his own house, absently rubbing at his cheek, where Dana had pressed a soft kiss, barely there like the touch of a feather. He could see them becoming friends.

But more importantly…he wanders the halls, looking for Carlos. All of this positivity has to go somewhere, and he yearns to bury his hands in Carlos’ hair, to even just be close to him.

“Cecil,” one of the maids says, scurrying up to him. He sighs, only a little- he was so looking forward to being with Carlos. The relationship is new enough that he still gets an illicit thrill every time he touches the other man. He’s not sure the feeling will ever go away. He’s not sure he wants it to.

Painstakingly, he turns his attention back to the maid, a young, nervous thing named Vithya. “Yes?”

“Your mother, sir. She’s requested that you see her immediately following your meeting with Miss Adams.”

He wants to whine about it, but instead he nods. “Very well. Thank you.”

His mother is easy enough to find- quietly doing needlepoint in the foyer, next to a large window. “You wanted to see me?”

“Ah, Cecil. Sit.”

He sits across from her, already planning his escape. “Is something wrong?”

She pulls the thread tight, pushes it back in the fabric. “No. I just wanted to know how it’s going with Dana.”

“It’s going well. She’s lovely, very intelligent.”

“That’s nice.” She doesn’t look up, but her movements become deliberate, far too casual. “Do you think you might ask for her hand?”

The good feeling Cecil had is suddenly lodged in his throat. “Ah…I’m not sure. I think…I think I need a little more time. I like her, but…” He looks down at his hands, fidgeting slightly. “It’s a big decision, isn’t it?”

His mother doesn’t say anything at first, and he begins to wonder if she heard him at all. Finally she asks, “Do you think she would be a good mother?”

Cecil thinks about Dana holding a child, teaching it how to behave, and he almost smiles because yes, she would be. But then he thinks about _their_ children, little girls with his blue eyes and her light brown hair, little boys with her freckles and his nose, and his stomach turns uncomfortably. He doesn’t want to father children by Dana, and the thought is almost sickening. The conception- oh lord, the conception. He’s barely maintaining control of his own life, and to be responsible for the lives of his children- what if he can’t be there when they need him? What if he turns callous and Dana loses her spark?

What if he turns into his father?

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully.

His mother doesn’t respond, but continues with her needlepoint. Silence falls, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock.

He finally ventures, “…Are we done?”

She looks up at that, lips pursed. “Cecil, I just…” Trailing off, she worries the edge of the fabric between her fingers. “I want what’s best for you. And I think you really need to be thinking of these things in the long term.”

“Mother, I am. I just need to get to know Dana first.”

“It just might be better to know if you want to marry her sooner than later.”

Cecil tilts his head, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, child. Just keep that in mind. And…our discussion before. Remember those. Will you?”

“Of course,” he says, feeling like he’s missed something completely.

“Alright. Go on.”

He mutters out a goodbye and gratefully takes his leave. Now, to find Carlos.

The valet is on the second floor, carrying fresh towels down the hallway, probably to Cecil’s bathroom. “Good afternoon, sir. How was your date?”

“Wonderful,” Cecil says, grabbing his arm and dragging him along.

“Sir, I’m not- Sir- _Cecil_ ,” he hisses at last, and Cecil lets go. “Be careful. You can’t- can’t be obvious.”

“Carlos,” Cecil says, “this house is enormous, and most of the staff is concentrated in the first floor. You know that. Nobody’s going to see us.”

“But if they do-”

“They won’t. Relax.” With that, Cecil opens the door to the hall closet and urges Carlos in, who still looks a little concerned. He can feel the frown against his mouth after he shuts the door and leans in. “Carlos, what’s wrong?”

It’s dark in the closet, but the narrow strip of light from the door is across Carlos’ face, and Cecil thinks if he had any skill he should like to paint this moment.  “I’m just not sure this is right.”

“You seemed to think this was right enough yesterday,” Cecil purrs, pressing against him salaciously.

“Yes, well.” Carlos’ voice is tight. “That was before you went on another date with Miss Adams. Are you sure you want to kiss me with the same mouth you kissed her with?”

Cecil’s mouth hangs open, and then he beams, delighted. “Carlos, you’re _jealous!_ ”

Carlos is silent for a moment, and Cecil really wishes he could see his face better. “Last time you said she was wonderful. That you underestimated your…connection. That you were probably going to marry her.”

“Oh, Carlos,” Cecil says fondly, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I was trying to provoke you. I was upset you didn’t kiss me back.”

Carlos doesn’t respond, but Cecil feels his hands come up to his lower back, pressing him closer. “Upset, hm?”

“Mm. You can fix it now,” Cecil breathes, angling his head up, going in for a kiss. He falters when Carlos turns his head and the connection is lost. “What is it?”

“You did meet up with Dana again, though.”

“Well, yes.”

“A date.”

“Carlos, you know my parents won’t accept it if I just stop seeing her. What am I going to tell them? I found the love of my life, but he’s- well, a he?” Carlos doesn’t answer, and Cecil kisses his collarbone. “Don’t fret, love, she can never come close to you.”

A soft exhale against his hair. “How can you call me the love of your life? We’ve been together less than a week.”

“The soul knows, Carlos, even if the mind is stubborn.” He tilts his head up again, and this time there’s a hand on the side of his face and lips against his own. He hums happily, pressing in deeper, parting his lips.

Carlos does not disappoint, kissing him with intent, tongue tracing patterns on his sensitive roof of his mouth and all of it has Cecil gasping and clutching at Carlos. The valet parts their mouths, ignoring Cecil’s breathy protest, and begins to trail kisses down his neck. Oh, yes. This is good, too.

The top button of his shirt is popped open and there’s a flick of tongue against the dip in his collarbone, making him squirm deliciously. A flash of teeth, _ooh_ , and Carlos is sucking at the soft skin now, Cecil’s breath coming in fits and starts. Carlos nips particularly hard, and it draws a moan out of the viscount. “Shh,” Carlos says, lifting his mouth, and the skin where it was feels cold. “You mustn’t be loud.”

Cecil nods, even though Carlos can’t possibly see him, and kisses him hard. Carlos’ hands are so wonderful drifting down his sides to his waist, and pushing up that little bit to slip his fingertips underneath the fabric of Cecil’s shirt. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt something as amazing as Carlos’ hands on his bare skin. He wants them everywhere.

The thought brings another flash of heat, and Cecil rolls his hips against Carlos, hissing at the friction. Carlos makes a surprised noise against Cecil’s mouth. “Cecil, we shouldn’t.”

“Please, Carlos.” Cecil continues to rock against him, feeling the sweet tension build already. Oh, how could he have ever been afraid of this? How could the books have taught against it? Sex is _fantastic_. He almost feels cheated out of all that time when he was anxious about the heat in his stomach, while all along he could have been experiencing _this_.

“Cecil, we’re in a closet in the middle of the day. Someone could hear us. Find us out.”

Cecil is writhing against Carlos by now, panting slightly. “Oh, please. Come on, I need this. It’s so nice.”

A pause from the other man, and then a thigh is being slipped between Cecil’s legs, and when Carlos thrusts forward just so it sends sparks down Cecil’s spine. Cecil can’t help but gasp and rut against it, mewling at how good it is.

Carlos stops the noise by claiming Cecil’s mouth in a kiss. He bites at his lower lip as he grabs Cecil’s hips firmly and pushes him down against his leg, and that’s even better.

It’s like a back-and-forth, the most pleasant kind. Carlos is lifting his thigh just so and pulling Cecil down against it at the same time, and all Cecil can do is make muffled moans into Carlos’ mouth and buck frantically into the sensations.

He’s trembling with it, hands clinging frantically to Carlos’ shoulders. Ah, just a little more, just- ahh _hhh_ -

He tips over that edge, shaking and with Carlos’ name on his lips. His valet holds him through it, brushes the hair out of his eyes. “Good?”

“ _So_ good,” Cecil says, feeling light and a little lazy. “Wait, you didn’t-”

“Shh, it’s alright.” Carlos kisses him again, soft and intimate, and Cecil wonders if it’s possible for someone’s heart to actually glow. “Later.”

The words hold promise, and even though Cecil has just spent, he feels a flicker of interest. He loops his arms around Carlos’ waist, trying to get even closer, basking in the warmth against his chest and the smell of Carlos’ cologne. He wishes that two people could occupy the same space, so that they could be even closer.

“I can feel your heartbeat,” Carlos says absently.

Cecil hums in response, and his hand finds Carlos’, twining their fingers together. “For the longest time I thought I was sick because my pulse would start racing when you touched me.”

“And now?”

“If this is sickness, I never want to be cured.”

A press of lips at his temple, then: “I should go. We can’t stay in here forever, we’re bound to be discovered.” Cecil begins to whine in protest, but Carlos gently puts a finger against his mouth, shushing him. Once he’s quieted, Carlos’ hands slip down, rebuttoning the very top of his shirt that had come undone during their necking. “I’ll come to you tonight, yes?”

Cecil grins. “Yes.”

Another chaste kiss and then Carlos slips out of the closet. Cecil waits a few minutes before he follows.

Later, he goes undo his tie and a few buttons and discovers, hidden just beneath the collar, a vivid bruise on his neck where Carlos had sucked at the skin. When he presses his fingers against it he gets a little thrill. He can’t wait for tonight.

* * *

 

Carlos, of course, is nothing but proper when he undresses him (except for maybe one absolutely wonderful kiss against his abdomen) and leaves. An hour or so later, when everyone else is asleep, Cecil is still sitting awake filled with anxious energy.

The door opens silently and for a second Cecil is hit with the irrational fear that it’s not Carlos, it’s somebody else. But then it is Carlos, closing the door behind him, smiling up at Cecil.

“Hello,” he says, leaning against the post of Cecil’s bed.

“Hey,” Cecil replies, shifting over to make room for him.

When Carlos had first mentioned coming to him in the night, Cecil’s thoughts had immediately gone to something more…carnal in nature. That Carlos would have him just like the first time on the desk, but maybe on the bed this time. And maybe this time he’d kiss him during. Yes, he’d originally thought Carlos had wanted something more.

But he wouldn’t trade this for anything.

They end up with Cecil sitting against the headboard and Carlos lying down with his head in Cecil’s lap, which Cecil is absolutely ecstatic about because it means he can run his fingers through Carlos’ hair as much as he wants. And they talk, in hushed whispers. They talk about ambitions, and the nature of life, and where the universe ends. They talk about the other people in the house, the neighbors, the people down the street. They talk about love.

At one point Carlos is explaining something scientific, and even with only the pale moonlight for illumination, Cecil can see the way his face lights up at the subject. He gets more and more involved, hands gesturing, tone rising and falling with emotion. Then he looks up, sees Cecil’s rapt gaze. He blushes, self-conscious. “What?”

“Nothing,” Cecil says, smoothing a hand over his hair. “I just…love you.” Carlos murmurs the same, closing his eyes and tilting his head to give Cecil more access. “Carlos, are you familiar with Jeremy Taylor’s writings?”

“Hmm, I’m afraid not.”

“Finally, something I know and you don’t. That’s a first.”

“So what does Mr. Taylor have to say, then?”

Cecil’s hand stills, and Carlos opens his eyes. “Love,” Cecil says, “is friendship caught on fire.”

Carlos only looks at him for a moment, then Cecil leans down and kisses him softly and everything is right with the world.

He’s fairly sure he’s found heaven.

* * *

 

Carnality is _so_ wonderful, though.

Cecil’s parents are out to a social lunch, Cecil claimed that he wasn’t feeling well and said that he should probably stay in bed and rest.

…Well, he _is_ in bed, at least.

In bed, side by side with Carlos, gasping as the valet bites his lower lip. He wiggles closer, grabs handfuls of Carlos’ hair and tugs by accident when Carlos nips at him again. Carlos hisses, and his hands close so tightly on Cecil’s hips that he thinks he might find bruises there later, and he can’t bring himself to care. “Do that again,” Carlos says, mouthing at Cecil’s jaw.

So he grips harder and pulls at Carlos’ hair, delighted at the moan it drags from the other man. He can feel Carlos hard and pressing at his hip, and there’s a heady rush of pride. That he did that, that simple, normal him could make beautiful, perfect Carlos react like that. Rolling his hips against Carlos, he whines at the wonderful pressure. “Oh, Carlos.”

The other man kisses him against, deep and lovely, and he’s pulling at the hem of Cecil’s shirt which Cecil doesn’t quite understand but it’s very nice. Carlos bites at the spot where he left a bruise before- it’s barely finished fading- and the quick flash of pleasure-pain leaves Cecil breathless. He pushes Carlos back on the bed and climbs on top of him, straddling him. It’s a rather bold move for him, but the way Carlos is looking at him hungrily seems to indicate that he appreciates it.

Slowly, he begins to rock back and forth, savoring the sweet friction, the smoldering coals threatening to turn into a flame. He’s making noises involuntarily, little gasps and broken-off moans as he starts to rut harder, feeling the promise of climax tingling just out of reach.

Then Carlos rolls them, which Cecil wasn’t expecting, but is good too. Except then Carlos shifts off of Cecil, denying him the contact, which is less good. “Carlos, what are you doing?”

In response, Carlos kisses him and his hands slide down Cecil’s chest. One of his thumbs flicks over Cecil’s nipple through the cloth and _oh_ , Cecil had no idea that was sensitive like that. “Cecil,” Carlos murmurs, “do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch you like this? How badly I’ve wanted to?”

“I had dreams about you,” Cecil confides as Carlos’ hands continue down, ending at the top of Cecil’s waistband. “About you kissing me, touching me. Sometimes I’m afraid I’m still dreaming.”

He’s undoing the laces on Cecil’s pants now, brushing against things that make Cecil hold his breath. “You’re not dreaming.” And then- oh. _Oh. Oh, God._

Carlos has actually slipped his hand inside Cecil’s pants and is touching him _there_ , slowly pumping up and down the way Cecil sometimes does when he wakes up from a particularly lewd dream. It’s _magnificent_ and Cecil is mewling, scrabbling at Carlos’ shoulders. “Oh, Carlos, oh my God, yes, ah, _perfection-_ ” It’s so like his own hand and so unlike it at the same time, and when Carlos twists his wrist just right Cecil can’t help but cry out.

“Cecil!” Carlos stops moving and it’s unbearable. “You have to be quiet.”

Panting, Cecil pulls him into a messy kiss. “Please, please don’t stop, I _need_ -”

A thumb swipes across the sensitive head and Cecil’s back arches, heat coiling insistently in his lower stomach. But then Carlos lets go entirely, and _no_ , that is not okay.

“You’re wicked. Absolutely wicked,” Cecil whines, throwing an arm dramatically over his eyes.

Carlos chuckles- he can feel it rumbling against him- and slides down his body, hooking his thumbs in the top of his pants. “Oh, I am, am I?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Cecil says, squirming and desperately trying to get more.  “Not _fair_ , Carlos, I’m- I’m aching, please…”

“Let me make up for that, then.” His pants and everything underneath are abruptly pulled down around his thighs, and the cold air to his hardness makes him shiver. He feels suddenly exposed, vulnerable under Carlos’ gaze, and he wants to hide, to cover himself.

Carlos’ head ducks down before Cecil can act on those feelings, and there’s _soft_ and _wet_ and _ohgodsogood_ and the air rushes out of him all at once. Cecil jerks and yelps, involuntarily, propping himself up on his elbows and staring down at the other man. Carlos smirks, the look in his eyes absolutely filthy. “Alright, Cecil?”

“Oh my- Carlos, I don’t- please, I don’t know what, but-”

“I’ve got you,” Carlos murmurs, pressing a kiss to his thigh. “Lie back, if you will.”

Cecil does as he’s told, swallowing hard and staring at the ceiling. Carlos draws his tongue up Cecil’s length again, slow and oh, it’s the worst kind of torment. His hands fist in the sheets and his toes curl, hips pressing up ever so slightly to follow the touch. He didn’t even _know_ that you could use your mouth down there, had never even thought of it, but it’s wonderful.

Carlos actually takes it _in_ his mouth, sucking lightly at the head, and Cecil is made of sparks, of electricity, crackling and sharp and too much, far too much. He can’t stay still, bucking up into the hot wetness, but there are hands on his hips pressing them down. Cecil can’t help grabbing handfuls of Carlos’ perfect hair and tugging just a little when Carlos does something _wonderful_ with his tongue, and the resulting pleased hum from Carlos makes his eyes roll back in his head. So good.

His hips are stuttering out an uneven rhythm no matter how hard he tries to stay still, and Carlos is bobbing his head up and down to counter it, taking Cecil deeper and deeper each time. Suddenly Cecil is aware he’s babbling in a fierce whisper, making little to no sense, saying Carlos is magnificent, he loves him so much, he has a mouth from the gods, have mercy on his soul.

And oh- _oh-_ Carlos has taken him all the way down now, _all_ of it, and is swallowing around him. Cecil’s going to die. That’s it. There’s no way anyone can survive this, this fire racing up his spine and filling his cheeks and pooling in his stomach. He dares to look down and immediately wishes he hadn’t, because Carlos is looking right back at him, eyes dark and lips stretched obscenely around him and it’s the most arousing thing Cecil has ever seen in his entire life. He’s so close.

But then Carlos does the unthinkable.

He pulls away.

Cecil is about five seconds from grabbing Carlos and pushing him down and- doing what, he doesn’t quite know, but doing _something_ until Carlos can’t give him that damn smile as he sucks on one of his own fingers, a hollow imitation of that he had been doing just a minute ago to Cecil. “Carlos Ochoa, you better get back down there or- or I swear-I swear I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Carlos asks, even has he settles back down, breath ghosting over Cecil’s cock, which almost hurts with how badly he needs release. “What will you do to me?”

He snarls in return, lifting his hips only to get them pushed back down. “I’ll- I’ll-” He doesn’t have enough experience to come up with anything mind-blowing, so he fakes it. “I’ll tie you up and tease you until you’re begging for me, and even then I might not give you what you want.”

Well, it provokes a reaction at least. Carlos’ eyebrows go up, and a flash of raw hunger crosses his face. He goes back to work, licking at the head luxuriously before sinking down, all the way, sliding it in and out of his mouth and Cecil is right there, right at that precipice, going to climax, so close-

There’s something _else_ , something down _lower_ , and why on _earth_ is anything going there? Through the haze of lust Cecil realizes it’s Carlos’ finger, the one he’d sucked on, gotten wet, and now it’s- it’s pressing _in_ \- why is it-

Carlos _sucks_ hard at the head and hums and the finger is inside him and the stretch is strange and new but the combination of sensations pushes him off the edge and he’s coming so hard there are whole galaxies spiraling across his vision.

It feels like years before he comes back to himself, and he lays there loose and buzzing as Carlos tugs up his pants, reties the laces. He crawls up to lie next to Cecil, who finally has the clarity to reach out with shaking hands and kiss him deeply, tasting salt-bitterness on his tongue and- oh, that’s him, isn’t it? The thought probably shouldn’t be that enticing, but Cecil can’t find the energy to care right now. He’s not…quite sure what happened at the end there, or why it felt so nice, but again, he’s warm and satiated and suddenly aware of Carlos hard against his thigh as the valet kisses him more and more desperately.

“Let me,” Cecil says quietly, sliding down until he’s level with Carlos’ hips, undoing his pants. He’s…nervous, a little. Considering that up until now he’d thought homosexual sex was solely rubbing against one another to completion, the idea of doing _things_ with the actual organ is a little unnerving. What if he does it wrong? What if Carlos decides he can’t satisfy him?

A hand cards through his hair, soft, comforting, and Cecil glances up to see Carlos looking at him warmly. Still lustful, yes, but more than that there’s clear affection. “You alright?”

Cecil suddenly feels warmth radiating from his chest, an outpouring of love, and spares a brief thought to wonder what kind of God would damn someone to hell for something as wonderful as this. He nuzzles at the crook of Carlos’ thigh as an answer, smiling at the soft gasp from above him.

He tugs down the pants and there’s a small encore of the nerves when he’s actually faced with having to _do_ something, but Carlos’ hand is still resting in his hair and it stabilizes him. Enough, at least, to lean in and tentatively lick at Carlos’ length.

There’s another gasp and the hand tightens in his hair. Not tugging, not painful, just…gripping. It’s nice, Cecil decides, and he flicks his tongue against the head. The taste isn’t awful, and the noise Carlos makes in response is so pretty. He continues like this, short little licks in different places, testing the responses he gets, until finally Carlos moans low in his throat. “Cecil, love, come on, give me _something_.”

Oh, right. He takes the tip into his mouth, sucking at it the way Carlos had, remembering how good it felt. And apparently it’s universal, because Carlos gives a “nngh” sound and his heels dig into the mattress. And, well…the actual act isn’t doing much for Cecil, no sensitive pleasure points in the mouth, but seeing Carlos fall apart under his ministrations…it’s enthralling on its own merit.

He wants to push Carlos farther, see him gone with pleasure.  So he takes a deep breath through his nose and lowers his head, allowing Carlos’ hardness to slide in further, further.

Carlos makes a choking noise. “Oh, Cecil, you don’t have to- it’s n-not so easy when you first- _oh, God._ ”

Because then Cecil’s taken it all and he swallows around it the same way Carlos did to him just to hear him growl out Cecil’s name. He pulls away, and speaks, voice only a little rougher than before. “What?”

“How did you- what about your, um- your gag reflex?”

“Hm?”

“Your gag reflex. It- you know, it makes you retch when something goes too far?”

Cecil tilts his head, considering. “I think perhaps I don’t have one?”

Carlos’ eyes widen. “Jesus _Christ_.”

“Is that…bad?”

“No. _No_. Not at all. Just, um…” And then the hand in his hair is gently pressing down, and Cecil understands the message, takes Carlos’ length all the way down without hesitation this time. Carlos’ hold tightens to the very verge of pain, and it’s kind of pleasant to Cecil’s orgasm-sensitive skin. Pleasant enough to make him moan softly, almost forgetting his mouth is full.

Carlos hisses and his hips buck up, just once. It startles Cecil a little, but it’s also…not bad. “Shit, apologies,” Carlos pants out, and Cecil’s never heard him swear before, not like this. It’s also not bad. He tucks that away for future reference. “Cecil? Love? Are you…?”

Cecil doesn’t move and instead fixes Carlos with a steady gaze, quirking one eyebrow. An offering. Carlos’ mouth drops open, and he acts like he’s going to say something. Closes his mouth. Opens it again, and closes it again. Finally he just takes a firm grip in Cecil’s hair and thrusts once, carefully. Cecil allows his eyes to drift closed, humming ever so slightly. Carlos’ other hand joins the first and he begins a constant pace, pumping in and out of Cecil’s mouth.

Carlos is moaning now, and Cecil can catch his name between the frantic noises. It’s a powerful feeling, that he can stay here, unmoving and braced above Carlos’ hips, that he doesn’t even have to do anything and he can still make Carlos lose his composure.

“Ah, Cecil, Cecil, that’s…” He opens his eyes at that, and the sight of Carlos with his head thrown back in pleasure, biting his lower lip, it’s…well, it’s one of the most beautiful things he’s even seen, and he tucks this away for later, too.

The rhythm is speeding up, the thrusts getting harder and more erratic, and Cecil can taste the barest hint of salt on his tongue. “Cecil,” Carlos groans, “Ah, love, I’m close-”

Cecil hums around him again and that’s all it takes and Carlos is arching up, cursing blasphemously, coming into Cecil’s mouth. He wasn’t quite prepared for it and he chokes a little, sputtering as Carlos pulls out.

The other man pulls him into his arms, takes out a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes away the saliva and release from Cecil’s chin. “Was it good?” Cecil asks, wincing at how raw his throat is.

“It was _fantastic_. Come here.”

Cecil gladly curls up against him, still feeling fuzzy and post-orgasmic and happy that he could give those same feelings to Carlos. It’s so nice to be held after, to feel loved and wanted and safe. Carlos sighs and tangles their legs together and Cecil knows he feels this way too.

It’s lovely, basking in the soft afternoon and the afterglow. Cecil even begins to doze off, but wakes when Carlos slides off the bed. “Carlos, where are you off to?”

He kisses Cecil lightly on the lips. “I can’t be caught here, you know that. Not like this.”

There’s a cold empty spot beside Cecil where Carlos should be, and it hurts. “Will you come tonight?”

“Probably shouldn’t. Can’t risk it too often.” Apparently Cecil’s dismay is obvious, because Carlos presses a hand to his cheek. “If it were safe, I would. Sleep now. Your parents think you’re resting, after all.”

That makes Cecil laugh, if only a little. “Fine. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Another kiss, and he’s gone, leaving behind only the smell of debauchery and Cecil, hair mussed and neck bitten and thoroughly wrung out.

* * *

 

“You haven’t seen Dana in almost two weeks,” his mother says, looking into her teacup like it holds answers to some impossible mystery.

“No, I haven’t. I’ll see her soon,” Cecil responds, privately thinking he’ll do nothing for the sort.

She sighs, takes a sip, sets the cup down. “Is there a reason you haven’t?”

“Oh, no. I mean, I’ve just been so busy lately. I’d love to see her any time possible- she’s so lovely, after all- but I just haven’t been able to arrange it.”

His mother looks up at that, brow furrowed. “Cecil, what’s wrong with your voice?”

He clears his throat, even though he knows that won’t fix the hoarseness. “Nothing, mother. Just the tail end of being sick.”

* * *

 

“My, but you’re eager,” Carlos says with a laugh, practically being dragged into the bedroom.

“We haven’t been alone in ages!” Cecil whines, shutting the door behind him.

“It’s been a week, Cecil. And we’ve both been busy.”

“A week too long, if you ask my opinion.”

“Well, I suppose we could fix that.”

Cecil grins victoriously and pushes Carlos back on the bed, where he falls with an “oof.” He’s on his lap in a flash, straddling him, pressing them together from chest to hip.

Carlos exhales softly. “Cecil, wait. I’m actually not sure-”

“Don’t worry.” Cecil nips at his earlobe, evoking a low rumble of a moan. “My parents are expecting company. They won’t bother us.”

The stiff posture underneath him tells Cecil that Carlos is not assured. “…We can make it quick.”

“Of course,” Cecil purrs, pressing at Carlos’ shoulders until he’s lying down. He sprawls across him like he’s trying to cover as much area as possible, still nipping at his earlobe.

Carlos chooses to instead pull him into a kiss, hands leaving as soon as Cecil is where he wants him to be, then sliding down to his waist and- _ooh_ , around back, squeezing lightly and it’s delightful even if Cecil doesn’t know why.

“My Carlos,” he sighs, raking his nails across his scalp. This is wonderful. This is where he wants to be always.

“My Cecil,” Carlos says in turn. He begins to undo the top few buttons of Cecil’s shirt and Cecil is definitely in support of this. He doesn’t know if they’re going to rub against each other or touch instead, but either way is just fine.

Carlos kisses him again, a furious thing with lips and tongue and teeth. Everything is right. And then it’s not.

Cecil knows something is wrong when Carlos quits kissing him back, stills underneath him, grip tightening on Cecil’s hips to the point of pain. He knows something is wrong even before he hears it.

The sound of the door swinging open.

The soft gasp.

His blood turns to ice in his veins.

Carlos is similarly frozen against him and when Cecil pulls back he can see raw horror in his expression. No. No no no no. There was always a threat of this, yes, but Cecil never thought it would actually _happen_. And now that it has, his stomach is twisting inside out in revolt.

Slowly, so slowly, he turns. He turns slowly because half of him is hoping that if he never sees, never looks, it won’t be real. He pleads to God that it’s somebody insignificant, a maid or a lowly house servant, someone who can be intimidated or fired or whose words will mean nothing. Somebody who has nothing to gain from this.

He sees light brown hair, a smattering of freckles, oak-brown eyes looking just as horrified as he feels.

Dana.

For a second, they all do nothing, staring at each other. Then it occurs to Cecil that he needs to try and- and do something. Fix this.

He reaches out, hand trembling. “Dana, I-”

It breaks the spell. She lets out a mortified gasp, shaking her head and backing away before turning on her heel and dashing away.

Cecil sits there a moment longer, cold dread and terror sinking into his bones. Carlos pushes him to his feet, pale and wild-eyed. “ _Go_. Go after her. Stop her.”

He nods, numbly, then it hits him. He has to go find Dana. Talk to her first. Keep her from telling his parents under any circumstances. If they find out, he’ll absolutely be in trouble- and oh God above, the things that could happen to _Carlos-_

He sprints out the door, and when he skids around the corner, he catches a brief glance of Carlos sinking down onto the bed with his head in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I leave you with that, dear readers. What, you thought we were done with angsty cliffhangers? Perhaps you're in the wrong fic. 
> 
> Hopefully the next few chapters won't take quite so long to update- I wrote a couple fics in between, but now I think I'm ready to settle in for the long haul.
> 
> Tune in next time when Cecil tries to catch Dana in time, there are uncomfortable feelings all around, and Cecil's parents intervene.
> 
> I have a WTNV fic blog [here](http://floating-cats.tumblr.com). Stop on by if you want to talk about the fic, chat about Night Vale, or just watch me reblog a ton of WTNV stuff and swoon over Carlos headcanons. It's a good time, now with 30% less venom!


	6. Latin, Consequences, and The Arrangement

Oh, Lord, which way did she go? Cecil may have grown up in this house, but that doesn’t mean he can tell which of the twisting hallways she ran down. His heart is pounding in his ears, and he can’t think, can’t _bear_ to think of what might happen if she tells someone-

He’d be disgraced, locked up like a damsel in a tower, or sent off elsewhere. He’d get preachings and would be forced to marry a woman for sure. He’d never get to see Carlos again-

Oh. Oh, no. If they get exposed, he’ll be fine. Ashamed, tainted, yes, but fine. But Carlos- he’ll lose his job, he’ll never get work as a valet again, he’ll have to go back to slums and- and Cecil has heard about those places, and how you’re lucky to live to thirty.

The sound of sensible heels on hardwood floor alerts him to the fact that she’s just entered the second wing- which leads to the stairs. He runs after her, as fast as his legs can carry him. The sound gets louder and- _yes_ , vanishing around a corner, a quick glimpse of a skirt. “Miss Adams! Miss Adams! Dana, wait!”

She turns at that, looks even more stricken and flees that much faster. Cecil doesn’t blame her, he must look savage right now. He’ll apologize later. My, she’s quick in heels, but Cecil has raw panic on his side and his hand closes around her wrist, jerking her to a stop, all but making her fall over if not for Cecil’s hold. “Let me _go_!”

“No. Miss Adams- _please_ -” He grabs her other wrist too, pulls her close in an effort to stop her thrashing. “Miss Adams- Dana, would you just listen?”

She struggles like an animal backed into a trap, trying to pull away. “Get your hands _off_ me! I’ll scream, I swear I will.”

“Dana, please. Calm down. I just want to talk. I think you’re overemotional-”

“I am not! Unhand me this _second_ or I will personally ensure you can’t talk anymore, and that is a _promise_.”

He’s more scared of what will happen when he lets her go. “I think you may have gotten the wrong idea, with what you saw.”

“You’re intimate with the help,” she says, still raging but matter-of-fact.

Cecil didn’t expect her to be so abrupt about it, and he’s caught off guard. “Not everyone, only- only Carlos.”

“And you still came calling to me? What did you think would happen? That I’d be content to be your little wife at home, churning out child after child while you ran around with your lover? You can’t rewrite the rules to suit you, Cecil! I won’t resign myself to a life as a prop while you’re having all manners of trysts with- _him_ \- and still living free. I won’t! You, Cecil Palmer, are an _ass!_ ” And with that, she shoves so hard against his chest that he loses his grip and falls backward.

On the ground, gaping up at her, he feels- guilty. He’d been so upset over his own role in their courtship that he’d never thought- of course it was unfair to assume- Oh, dear. Suddenly the shyness, the kiss on his cheek have new meaning. He’d never thought of how _Dana_ felt with all this, had never considered her feelings. He acutely remembers the sting of being rejected by the one he loved, and thinks she must be hurting similarly. Oh, Dana, don’t love me, I’m broken and flawed and I can’t love you back. Don’t love me. Please, don’t.

“I could live with that,” Dana says, fire gone, looking cold and empty now. “It’s- it’s almost taught that we have to live with our husbands looking elsewhere. But I can’t-” She wraps her arms around herself, looking down at Cecil with tears shining in her eyes, and that’s worse than her anger. “You made me trust you, Cecil. You made me think- think that I had a companion. Someone I could…a friend. I thought you were my friend. And to fool someone like that, to use them- it’s a dirty trick.”

“Dana. Oh, Dana.” Cecil scrambles up and approaches her. She doesn’t run this time, but she stays facing downwards, shoulders shaking but barely noticeable. “I didn’t mean to trick you. Honestly, I didn’t. I just can’t- I can’t be the lover you deserve.”

“I don’t want a lover,” she says, and her voice is steady.

“I meant what I said.” He very slowly reaches out, places his hand on her arm. She doesn’t pull away. “About appreciating you. I always meant it. I enjoy your company Dana, and if I could choose a woman, it would be you. But I never meant to promise you love, and-”

“You aren’t listening to me again!” she says, scowling at him. “I don’t want a lover, or a beau, or- or a husband! Any of it! I’m not ready to give up my life. I’m not ready to be bed-ridden and pregnant for the next few years. I’m not ready…” here her voice trails off, and her expression softens, “to become someone else’s belonging. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. I don’t want a lover. I want a _friend._ And I thought I had one.”

“You _do_. I’m- I enjoy your company, Dana. I like conversing with you. I’d be honored to be considered your friend.”

She still looks wary, stung.  “What did you think would happen, in the future, with you and I? Be honest with me Cecil, you owe me that. Did you picture me staying home quietly, raising the children, while you politely avoided me? Did you think that I’d be nothing but a piece of furniture while you had lovers?”

Cecil wants to shrink into himself, run away. He feels miserable. He counts himself so different from his father, but apparently they’re more similar than he thought. He would have smothered Dana’s flame, put out her light, and never have spared a second thought. “I wouldn’t take any lovers,” he says, shame making his voice small.

She sighs, like she was expecting this. “I would be fine if you simply didn’t love me. But I will not be denied agency by another man. Not again.”

“Let me make it up to you,” he says desperately. “I admit I’ve been tremendously self-absorbed, but- it’s- it’s been hard.”

“It didn’t look very hard,” she says, eyes flickering in the direction he came from.

“I didn’t mean-” He sighs, and his shoulders drop. “I know I’m damned, alright? I know I’m going to Hell. And I wish- I wish it was as simple as sleeping with the help. I sincerely do. Because I have fought this love every step of the way. I have fought it until I was bloody and exhausted, and it still is unrelenting.  I’ve made myself sick over it. I’ve been in a very bad place for awhile, Dana, somewhere dark and cold and awfully lonely. And while I was in that place, I was so preoccupied with my own emotions that I didn’t think to consider anyone else’s, especially yours. It’s no excuse, but maybe it explains enough to warrant a second chance? To be a friend again?”

She looks at him long and hard, and he can feel his palms sweating from the scrutiny. Then, blessedly, a small smile. “Mr. Palmer, you’re a fool, but God help me, it’s endearing.”

He almost laughs with the relief of it all. “I’ve been told. So, are we…alright? Friends?”

There’s a pause as she looks contemplative. “On one condition.”

“Yes?”

“Continue courting me.”

He blinks, confused. “What?”

“Keep seeing me.” Her eyes are alight with mischief, and as nice as it is to see it again, her words make Cecil uneasy. “I’m thinking a nice, long courtship.”

“But, you know I can’t- I won’t be able to-”

“Oh, dear, sweet, Cecil.” She shakes her head, chuckling. “Our parents are all too eager to push us off to marry, aren’t they? Mine won’t simply stop if you don’t work out; they haven’t stopped when a suitor doesn’t fit before. Will yours?” He considers this, how his mother whispered to him about financial issues, and his stomach twists. “I thought as much. So, let’s continue our courtship. You don’t have to marry a woman, at least for a little while, and can still be with your Carlos, and-”

“You get to keep your freedom,” he breathes, the idea slowly dawning on him. “We buy ourselves time. Dana, you’re _brilliant_.” His arms are out before he realizes it, but he stops himself when he sees Dana recoil. “Oh, apologies. Is it okay if…?”

She regards him carefully for a moment before daintily stepping forward into his outstretched arms and delicately wrapping hers around his waist. Warmth blossoms through Cecil- a different kind than when he’s with Carlos. Affection, yes, but not the same. Love? A new breed, perhaps. As he embraces her, pulls her close and feels her against him, small and soft and so different from Carlos’ hard angles and broadness, he thinks maybe it is love, just…not the same kind. He feels no urge to kiss her, no desire to pledge himself to be hers. But he enjoys holding her, and being held, and the support and care that she offers, and likes offering it in return.

“This is awfully forward, Mr. Palmer,” she murmurs against his chest.

He laughs, still not letting go. “And we don’t even have a chaperone! Say, why _were_ you here without a chaperone, in my room?”

“Your parents talked to mine. Said they were worried about you, that you’d hardly left your room lately. I wonder why _that_ could be.” Cecil feel his face flush, but he doesn’t say anything to refute it. “Since we’re lovebirds and all, they thought a surprise might make things better. Personally, I think they were all upset that we haven’t been out lately and wanted to make us be together, whether we wanted to or not. I think that they sent me up here alone in hopes that we actually might get up to- I don’t know, illicit hand-holding or some such behavior- and it might spur on the courtship a little more quickly.”

“ _Well_ ,” Cecil says, squeezing her shoulders for emphasis, “I suppose they were half-right.”

Dana laughs, the kind of partially hysterical giggles that come from sheer absurdity and the relief of having a confidant. “I suppose. We should get down there soon, though. They’ll look for us before too long.”

“Oh! I have to go talk to Carlos! He’s probably expecting the worst.” Cecil lets go of Dana, kisses her hand. “Wait here for me?”

“I suppose.”

“You’re wonderful, I’ll return shortly.” And with that, Cecil scampers away, leaving Dana behind, looking a little wistful.

* * *

 

Cecil throws himself on his bed, whining pitifully into a pillow.

“What’s wrong?” Carlos is there, of course, picking up the books that Cecil dropped unceremoniously on the floor.

He mumbles something intelligible, then rolls over, sprawled out dramatically. “I couldn’t recite a single thing today in lessons. Mrs. Josie was furious. I think she might have cursed me out in Latin, but- well, I couldn’t understand.”

“Have you studied? At all?”

Cecil shoots Carlos a sharp look. “My mouth has been otherwise occupied lately, hasn’t it?”

It’s crude, but it’s worth it to see Carlos’ face turn slightly red. And it’s true, if not in the lewdest way. Cecil can’t seem to bring himself to waste time studying when Carlos is around. Every minute seems precious, a valuable treasure. Ever since Dana caught them, two weeks ago, the feeling has intensified- that Cecil needs to hold Carlos dear, since every moment spent is a moment stolen.

So yes, he’s been using his mouth for other things. Not always _that_ , though he’s become quite adept at it. He sneaks kisses, he whispers secrets and promises, he coos sweet nothings. No time for Latin, when there are other things that desperately require his attention, like how Carlos’ eyes shine when he’s about to kiss Cecil, or the lovely way his voice breaks.

“You’ve got to keep up your studies,” Carlos says, and though he’s not angry, there’s an edge of concern in his voice. The unspoken what might have been if he had been given access to an education like Cecil’s, what he could have become. He’s so clever and he learns from his books so well just on his own, and it makes Cecil ache a little when he thinks about all of the opportunities Carlos was denied.

“I know, I just…” Cecil props his head on one of his hands. “How am I supposed to study while you’re so dashing over there?”

“You’re supposed to be able to not get distracted,” Carlos says, though he wears a fond smile.

“Hm. I think I’d rather study _you_ , if it’s all the same.”

Carlos pauses where he’s putting away the books and when he looks up there’s a little gleam in his eye that makes Cecil squirm happily. “Really, now?”

“Carlos, what are you planning?”

He tilts his head toward the door. “Are your parents in?”

Ooh, that’s promising. “They’re having tea in the garden. I was supposed to join them after my lesson, but I seem to have gotten out early.”

“So they won’t be expecting you?”

“Afraid not. It would be an awful _shame_ if someone were to take advantage of that.”

“A terrible shame,” Carlos agrees, and kisses him. Cecil hums happily and wraps his arms around the valet, pulling him closer. It’s a little awkward, since Cecil is still lying on the bed and Carlos is standing, but without breaking the kiss he manages to shift so he’s sitting on the edge and Carlos is standing between his legs. Carlos’ hand slides down between them and the drag against Cecil’s torso is delicious. He arches up into it, but Carlos doesn’t linger. Instead, he uses one hand to cup the side of Cecil’s face and kisses him harder, fingers of the other hand drifting oh-so-lightly between Cecil’s legs. Cecil can’t help but whine against Carlos’ mouth impatiently, pushing his hips up into the touch, but as he does so Carlos takes his hand away.

“Carlos,” Cecil protests, tugging at his shoulders. “Come on- nngh!” The touches return, fingertips giving feather-light touches to the area Cecil needs most. “Don’t tease.”

“I won’t have to,” Carlos says, pulling away entirely, “if you remember your lessons.”

For a second, Cecil only gapes at him. “ _What_.”

“Come now, Cecil, you’re smart. You just need… _incentive_.” He trails a finger across Cecil’s jawline, eyes going darker when Cecil flicks out his tongue to lick at it. “What are you studying now, hm? Still Catullus?”

Cecil shakes his head. “No. Ovid.”

“I know of him.”

“You’re been reading my books again.”

“Problem?” Carlos asks, nipping at Cecil’s neck.

“Mm, not in the slightest.” Cecil tips his head back to give Carlos better access, but he doesn’t get the touch he craves.

Instead, all he gets is Carlos’ breath ghosting across his skin. “Recite.”

“ _What_?” Cecil’s eyes, which had been closed in bliss, snapped open.

“Recite, and I’ll give you what you want. Falter, and I’ll stop.”

“Oh, Carlos, you _wouldn’t!_ ” Just from the light teasing Cecil is already buzzing, the front of his pants tight.

Carlos just chuckles darkly against his neck. “You underestimate how much I value education.”

“No, that’s not fair!” Cecil wriggles, trying to get more contact, more anything, but Carlos holds firm.

“Now, you know I’d _love_ to indulge you, love to watch you fall apart for me, if only you’d recite a few lines…”

Cecil huffs with resignation. “Fine. _Fine_. Ovid, Amores I, 2: Sic erit; haeserunt tenues in corde s-sagitte.” His voice wavers a little when Carlos licks a line up his neck, but he pushes through it. “Et possess- ah!” A sharp bite, and he tangles a hand in Carlos’ hair, only to be dismayed when he stops moving. “Um…possessa, ferus pec- pector- ooh, pectora, ver- oh, yes, please-”

Again Carlos stills and Cecil lets out a string of curses. “Carlos!”

“Keep going,” he says, and that _damn smile_. “Personally, I’d love to help you find release, but if you don’t desire to, then I guess it’s your choice…”

“Damn you,” Cecil pants, head falling back. “Ferus pectora versat-” Carlos cups him where he’s straining against his pants, and Cecil’s words trail off into a groan. And it just stays there, not applying pressure, not moving- _nothing_. “Carlos, please!”

“You know what do to.”

Cecil squeezes his eyes shut, summoning his concentration. “Versat amor. Cedimus, ah, a-an subitum- o-oh, God, l-lu- oh, damn, I can’t-” Carlos, who was rubbing the heel of his palm against him and creating wonderful friction, stops, and Cecil whines unashamedly. “I can’t remember the word, Carlos, please, I can’t.”

“Think. Try to remember.” His fingers flex, only providing a fraction of what he needs.

“Subitum- subitum- lu- oh, Damn it all, it starts with an ‘L’. Lu...luctando! Subitum luctando!” It comes out as a gasp because _finally_ Carlos is moving his hand again, grinding hard and unrelenting and oh, Cecil can feel his climax coming in the offshoots of his limbs, in the back of his throat. “A- Ac- ooh, C-Carlos, accendimus ignem- ah, ahhh, close-” Carlos is kissing his neck now, and Cecil is writhing and bucking up to meet his hand, so close now. “Cedamus! Leve- leve-”

The rest of the poem is nothing but a blank. He desperately tries to remember what comes next, but there’s nothing, and Carlos’ hand stops when he’s a breath away from orgasm. No, no, _no_. “Carlos, Carlos, I can’t remember the rest, please.”

“Try.” A soft kiss where his neck meets his shoulder.

Cecil all but sobs, hands curling into the fabric of Carlos’ shirt. “I can’t. I honestly can’t, Carlos, I won’t be able to. _Please_. I’m trying.”

Carlos is silent for a second, and Cecil is terrified that he’s just going to leave him like this, painfully aroused and needy, because he can’t remember a few lines of Latin. He’s definitely going to study harder from now on. “Alright,” Carlos says, and Cecil wants to cry with the relief of it all. “Ask for what you want, then. In Latin. You know the basic words, yes?”

Oh, God above, more Latin. “Tangunt me,” he manages. Touch me. Carlos does as he’s asked, but only as he’s asked, applying the slightest bit of pressure. Not nearly enough. “Lorem ipsum,” he begs, curling up as close as he can get. “Oh, l-lorem ipsum, ah.” Please, over and over, falling from his lips. “Volo,” _I want_ , and Carlos is rubbing harder, in circles, and Cecil’s toes are curling, if he can only keep talking a little longer.

“Cupio te,” he hisses, and that’s when Carlos presses just in the right way and Cecil is crying out, muffled against Carlos’ mouth when he kisses him.

He comes down from it, shuddering, and Carlos is stroking his hair. “Alright?”

“You’re _evil_ ,” Cecil says, breathing still ragged.

“I just care about your education, love. That, and I really quite enjoy those noises you make.”

“Nope, I’ve got an evil beau,” Cecil says, leaning against Carlos’ chest. The stickiness in his pants is getting a little uncomfortable, but he doesn’t want to move just yet.

Carlos is quiet, though his hand slows in Cecil’s hair. “Is that what I am? Your beau?”

Realizing the weight of what he’s said, what it could potentially mean, it makes Cecil a little nervous. “If you’d like to be. I mean, you’re not only my valet anymore- and I’m not sure there’s quite another term- you’re certainly not my, um, fiancé, and I think that’s the only other term that could possibly be of any use, aside from-”

“Husband,” Carlos finishes. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“So, would you? Like to be?”

“Cecil, I’d be honored to be called your beau.” Carlos kisses his temple, and Cecil ducks against his neck to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Would you be mine?”

“Yes, yes, of course I would!”

A soft sigh of satisfaction. “Come on then, you’ve got to get changed. You’ll have to go join your parents before too long.”

Cecil can’t do anything but grin as his _beau_ helps him out of his clothes.

* * *

 

Dana is polite as ever, and she holds on to his arm so nicely as he leads her to the tearoom. “Tell me, Mr. Palmer, how have you been doing?”

“Very well, thank you. And you?”

“Oh, you understand how things are. Tedious, for the most part.”

“It seems like it’s been awhile since we’ve last seen each other.”

She lets go as they both sit in their respective seats, across from each other at the small table. “Yes, but I can only assume you’ve been busy.”

He has to fight back the smug smile that threatens to bloom across his face. “Very busy, but that’s no excuse. It’s been far too long.”

“I forgive you,” she says, face composed perfectly to mask her emotions and Cecil really wishes he could do that. One of the servants brings them tea, a young dark thing with hair pulled tightly back.

“Anything else, miss?” She asks, her voice low.

“Not at the moment, Jane, thank you.”

The chaperone, who has apparently grown weary of their conversations about whimsy and literature at this point, snaps out of her book. “Joan! I need my tea still. Be quick with it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joan- Jane?- answers, scurrying over.

Cecil mouths _Joan?_ In confusion to Dana, who rolls her eyes and motions him to lean closer. “Her name is Jada,” she says in a voice just above a whisper, “but my mother says it’s too Negro. They’re forever mixing up the names they give her, and I suppose it hardly matters.”

He glances up again at the young woman and feels uncomfortable. He’s never liked the practice of giving the help less foreign names. Perhaps it’s just always sat wrong, the idea that you had so much power that you could point at someone and say “you’re no longer you. I rename you”.

“I’m surprised,” Dana says, still quietly, “that your family never tried to give Carlos a more proper name.”

“I think they tried once, when I was very young.” Cecil sips at the tea, and it scalds his lips. “Apparently I pitched a fit. Said I didn’t want to play with Charles, I wanted to play with Carlos.”

“And they agreed to it?”

“I was very good at making a nuisance of myself. In the end my father said he didn’t care if it was Charles or Carlos or the bloody queen herself as long as I’d just go outside with whoever-it-was and go play. They didn’t try again.”

“Fancy that,” Dana murmurs, expression schooled. “A man whining until he gets his way. Unheard of.”

Cecil snorts with laughter at that, almost spilling his tea. The chaperone gives them a sharp look, and Cecil returns it with a sheepish one.

Dana is unperturbed. “So, Mr. Palmer, how have things been? I hear you’ve been engaging in some domestic studies.”

She says it so _innocently_ , and Cecil loves her for it.  Domestic studies, indeed. He wishes that they could be free of this chaperone and he could just tell her about how wonderful it is when Carlos kisses him awake, how he feels when he gets to share his life with the other man, how he loves Carlos down to his very soul. But instead, he just says, “yes. It’s been going very well.”

“Have you been committing much time to it?”

“Quite a bit, yes. You might say I study it every time I get a spare minute.”

“Sounds nice.” She twists the bracelet on her wrist absentmindedly.

Her reaches over and covers her hand with his. He expects a rebuke from the chaperone, but surprisingly, none comes. “I have faith that you’ll find a study that fits you.”

“I don’t,” she says, pulling her hand away.

Cecil feels conflicted- no matter how understanding she is, it must still hurt, to be rejected like that. “What shall we talk about today, Miss Adams? I dare say we’ve exhausted _Frankenstein_. Shall we discuss Plato? _The Social Contract_?”

She delicately sips at her tea. “ _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea_. That is, if you’ve read it?”

“You underestimate me,” he says, grinning like a fool.

* * *

 

Cecil’s Latin comes out flawlessly- well, at least, flawlessly for him, which is to say probably average. Mrs. Josie, to her credit, only looks a little shocked. “What sort of witchcraft have you engaged in to actually be competent for once?”

He beams under the praise. “I’ve simply been studying.” And what studying it’s been.

The lesson ends earlier than usual- Mrs. Josie apparently schedules in time to lecture him for being useless and with no need to do so, he gets down to the garden with plenty of time. The sun feels magnificent after being cooped up inside.

His mother is already there, with two teacups on the table. Two. He looks at them, then at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Your father can’t join us, unfortunately,” she says.

Cecil can’t hold back the deep sigh. He’s not surprised. His father is no doubt off somewhere sleeping off the pervious night’s spirits, or already beginning to drink for today, or with his arm around a woman half his mother’s age. It used to make Cecil’s blood boil, but now he just feels…used to it. He doesn’t even feel disappointed anymore. “Who could have possibly guessed that would happen?”

“Cecil.” His mother’s tone is sharp. “Show some respect.”

There’s a flash of shame, and he lowers his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

Her hand is soft against his cheek. “It’s aright. You’re a young man, of course you’re foolhardy now and again.” She pulls back, still regarding him carefully. “So young. Far too young to be grown just yet.”

He’s learned to not ask what she means when she gets like this, so he waits for her to speak. And she comes back from wherever she is in her head, after a time. “Why don’t you go have fun. Go relax.”

“But mother, the tea-” They’ve rarely missed post-lessons tea for the past…well, almost as long as Cecil can remember, even when he was very young and would drink milk instead, feet not touching the ground as he sat at the table.

“It’s fine. Go…go enjoy yourself. You…there’s so little time to be young.”

He wants to protest again, ask her what she’s talking about, but she’s already a million miles away, staring absently at the flowers. “Alright.”

Setting off to go find Carlos, he can’t help a vague feeling of unease, even as he dismisses it.

The valet isn’t in his room. He’s not in the hallway, nor in the kitchens, when Cecil steals a glance. He’s not anywhere in the house. Cecil leans against a wall with an annoyed huff. Where did Carlos usually go when Cecil was elsewhere?

He could be… _oh_. Cecil lights up as he realizes there’s one more place. He checks over his shoulder to make sure nobody is watching him as he opens the plain wooden door to the steps that lead to the servant’s quarters.

It’s day, and nobody’s down here, which is good because Cecil isn’t exactly stealthy, even if he does know just where to go. He remembers being small and exploring this place with Carlos before his mother took him aside and gently told him it wasn’t proper for him to be there. It seems a lot smaller now. Still, he can find his way to Carlos’ room easily, even thought it’s been…ten years, perhaps?

He pushes open the door carefully, and Carlos is sitting on his bed with a book open in his lap, reading it in the warm candlelight. No natural light reaches down here, and it feels otherworldly, the way it flickers across his features. For a long moment Cecil just leans in the doorway, overcome by affection for his beau. “Hello there.”

Carlos looks up, startled. “Cecil? What are you doing- did anyone see you come down here?”

“No,” Cecil says, as Carlos reaches behind him to shut the door. There’s no lock, but he pushes a box until it’s blocking the door.

“If anyone saw- you never come down here, they’ll wonder-”

“Carlos, relax.” Cecil cups his face, trying to soothe him. “It’s daytime, everyone’s busy, and nobody saw me come down. Is this where you go when I’m at lessons?”

“Often, it is my room after all, and I am your valet, there’s little for me to do when you’re not- but Cecil, I don’t think you understand how _risky_ this is.”

“It’s not risky, Carlos. We’re fine.”  Cecil sits on his bed, taking in the surroundings. “Do you remember playing down here as children? How we found all the loose boards and hiding places?”

Carlos is distracted, hands fidgeting, half-listening at the door. A sense of annoyance starts to tug at Cecil- he really doesn’t care for being ignored. He decides to try another tactic, leaning back slightly and running a finger over his lips. “Are you going to leave me all alone over here, darling?” The look Carlos shoots him makes him flush with embarrassment at his attempt at seduction- Carlos looks peevish, not aroused in the least. “Look,” he says, annoyance quickly turning to anger, “I just wanted to spend some time with you. Forgive me if I’m a burden.”

For a second, Carlos just blinks at him owlishly, then he crosses the room to sit beside Cecil and take his hands. “No, no, you’re not a burden. I just…I worry. We were so lucky to only have Dana spot us before, and that she’s agreed to keep quiet, and I fear the next time we may not be so fortunate. You know what would happen if we were to be caught. You’d be ruined, your name besmirched, your parents would keep you under lock and key. And I-”

“You’d be sent back to the slums,” Cecil says, the seriousness grounding him.

Carlos looks confused for a second. “In the best case scenario, yes. But I- I think it’s naïve to assume it will be so.”

“Best case? What do you mean, best case?” Cecil asks, a feeling of dread beginning to knot in his gut. “That’s pretty bad, isn’t it? The slums are dangerous, certainly not a place for someone like you.”

“Cecil,” Carlos says, and his face is…heartbreaking. “Don’t you remember- you might not, perhaps you were too young, or it just stuck with me, or you were sheltered- and I don’t know how many there have been since, but- do you remember at all-”

“Remember what, Carlos?”

“The last time a man fell to the gallows for loving another man.”

Cecil can only stare in disbelief, then gape, then clasp his hands to his mouth. “Oh, _Carlos_. I don’t follow the news of executions, it’s always seemed morbid to me- I knew it was a _crime_ , but- the gallows? Hanging?”

Carlos lifts his shaking hands, kisses his knuckles. “You’ll be okay, Cecil. It won’t happen to you. You come from enough reputation and money that they wouldn’t dream of touching you. You’ll be in trouble, no doubt, but you won’t be arrested.”

“And you?” Cecil breathes, terrified of the answer.

Carlos doesn’t say anything for a long while, hands tight around Cecil’s. “If it were to come to that- if I was to be arrested- I’ve made my peace with God.”

Cecil almost wails, but he has to bite it back at that last minute, because secrecy is _so important_ , he can’t lose Carlos, not like that, he just can’t. “And there’s a possibility? That it will come to that?” _Say no_.

Another hesitation. “I…I try to be a realist. And I’ll ask you to be one as well, for just a moment. Your parents. They’re awfully eager to get you married off, aren’t they? They don’t…they don’t say much around you, but I’ve heard talk, I’ve seen the books- your marriage to Dana will be a great relief financially, at any rate. And if something were to threaten it…” He looks up at Cecil then, and Cecil is stricken by how calm his eyes are. This is something he’s thought over long and hard, something he’s accepted, and it’s awful. “How much is my life worth to them, Cecil? As a poor dago, how much is my life worth?”

The room is spinning and Cecil thinks he might faint. The next thing he’s aware of is leaning against Carlos’ chest, hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt. “If you-” _die_ , he can’t say it. “If they take you from me, I’ll follow. I know where the lye is kept; I’ll drink the whole damn bottle.” He can feel Carlos’ sharp intake of breath against him. “That,” he says, nearly a growl, “is a _promise_.”

“Oh, Cecil,” Carlos whispers, pulling him away so he’s looking him in the eye. “Don’t say that. Love, don’t ever say that. If anything ever happens to me, I don’t want you to stop living.” He kisses his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, laying soft kisses all across the surface of Cecil’s face, and he speaks between each one. “If something should happen, you must give me your word that you’ll carry on. Marry Dana. Have children. Be happy. Do I have your word?”

“But I won’t be happy, not without you,” Cecil protests, even as he relaxes with every small kiss. “I’d never be happy again, not now that I know love such as this exists, not now that I know what you feel like in my arms.”

“Try for me. That is all I ask.”

“But-”

“Your word? Do I have it?”

Cecil sighs and kisses Carlos on the mouth, a long, firm kiss this time. “Yes. I give you my word.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says, kissing him again. And again. Cecil is beginning to melt into the sensation and he groans against Carlos’ mouth as one of the other man’s deft hands begins to slide up his thigh.

“Oh my God above,” Cecil says, eyes snapping open where they had fallen shut with bliss. “I just- I just realized- I didn’t know-”

“What is it?” Carlos asks, looking concerned.

“You-” And Cecil is trembling now, clinging to Carlos desperately. “You love me- you went into this loving me, even though you knew it could end like that. That…it might cost you your life. You’re willing to love me, even though it may end _everything_ for you? You’re willing to risk that much?”

“I never had a choice of loving you, Cecil, my heart didn’t give me one. But I…I did have a choice of what to do with it. And I- I know it to be true now, at least this much; if I do die because I loved you, well, it would be a worthy death, and I would face it with no regret. I might be denied salvation because I’ve felt your embrace, but I have already found Heaven in loving you. I risk my life now, and I would do it again and again, because this- this is bigger than life, and than you, and me. It…transcends us, all of us, all of _this_. I can’t say I don’t fear a rope around my neck, but when I think of you…it doesn’t scare me anymore. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is you, and your smile, and…” He trails off, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, like he’s just realized what he was saying. “And making sure you have reasons to smile.”

Cecil can’t decide if he wants to cry or to propose on the spot. He settles for throwing his arms around Carlos, kissing him hard, trying to forever memorize how he feels against his body. “You’re my reason to smile, Carlos.” He kisses him again, climbing into his lap and reveling in the way their bodies meld together, like they were made for each other. “Love you,” he says breathlessly, kissing his way down Carlos’ neck, “love you so much.”

Carlos growls low in his throat when Cecil’s hips press against his. “Cecil, is it alright if I- If I, ah-”

“ _Yes_ , yes my dear Carlos, my perfect wonderful Carlos, yes.” Cecil settles back against the bed, pulling Carlos down with him, because he can’t bear to break the contact. “Can we? Is it safe?”

“If anyone was going to come after you, they would have done it by now,” Carlos says, voice shaking a little as Cecil bites down just the right amount on his collarbone. “It’s not safe to come down here again, but- ah, yes- as long as we’re here- and you do look quite appealing on my bed.”

“Do I?” Cecil pulls at his own shirt, torn between teasing and the need to just be close to Carlos. By the time he wrestles it off- blast this vest and _damn_ all these buttons- Carlos is just slipping out of his. Cecil reaches up and helps slide it the rest of the way off, and then they’re back to kissing and the skin-on-skin contact is delicious. He rakes his nails down Carlos’ back and the other man hisses in response, hips grinding slow and sweet and maddening. Dimly, Cecil hopes that he’ll leave scratches, that Carlos will see them tomorrow and be reminded of this moment.

Carlos moves down on the bed until he’s level with Cecil’s hips and Cecil squirms in anticipation as he undoes the laces. Carlos’ mouth feels so wonderful around him, and of course he’s going to be eager to feel it again.

Except this time Carlos doesn’t just pull his pants down to his thighs, he pulls them completely off Cecil altogether, which Cecil really wasn’t expecting. Abruptly he’s struck by how he’s completely bare, and the cool air against all of him, and he can feel the heat from Carlos, and it’s all overwhelming. He covers his face with his hands, trying to take deep breaths to calm himself, to stop the hysteria coiling around his chest.

Suddenly there are hands on his wrists, not tugging them away, but just…there. An anchoring point. “Hey.” It’s Carlos’ voice, soft and sweet and worried and it makes Cecil feel a little better. “Are you alright?”

He peeks between his fingers and Carlos is there, looking at him worriedly. “Yes. I’m fine. I just, um…” He lowers his hands a little more, blushing profusely. “I just realized this is the first time you’ve…well, the first that I’ve been completely without clothes in front of you. I mean- apologies, I’m being foolish, you’ve undressed me plenty of times before, just not really in this context. Oh, ignore me, I’m not making sense.”

“Don’t apologize.” Carlos does pull his hand away now, but only to lace their fingers together. “Don’t ever apologize for what you feel. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or scared, or any of that. We don’t have to…do what I was planning. I could use my mouth, or my hand, or we could do nothing at all, if that’s what you wish.”

“No, no, I wish to- I want you to do what it was you were going to- were you going to…make love to me?” The thought’s been lingering in his mind for awhile now, and maybe that’s why he’s so hesitant. He’s not even sure what making love _means_ for two men, but it sounds like a big step and it makes him anxious to think about. He wants to, eventually, but…not here. Not now.

“No, I wasn’t planning on it,” Carlos says, sitting back a bit, giving Cecil room to breathe. “Do you wish to stop? I don’t mind.”

“I don’t want to stop, Carlos, I just…needed a minute.” And with the expectation of lovemaking off, he finds it much less difficult to be here like this. The way Carlos is treating him with such care helps, as well. “It occurred to me that this was the first time I’d been…exposed completely and I think it caught me off guard.”

“What aspects?” Carlos stretches over him like a lazy cat, and the warm press feels nice against the cold air of the basement.

“I, ah…” Cecil is blushing again, but this time he’s not embarrassed, he’s anticipatory and Carlos does feel nice up against all of him like this, now that the nerves are gone. “My body isn’t like yours, Carlos. Isn’t…perfect.”

“You bestow perfection far too easily,” Carlos says with a soft laugh, kissing the side of Cecil’s mouth softly. “And to the wrong things entirely.” With that, he kisses down Cecil’s neck, eliciting a soft hum. “Might I show you some things that _are_ perfect?”

Cecil nods eagerly, body heating back up as Carlos’ mouth slides from his neck to his chest. “This is perfect,” murmurs Carlos, mouthing along his sternum. “I love your collarbones, your shoulders.”

“They’re far too bony,” Cecil grumbles, and Carlos silences him by trailing his fingers feather-light down his abdomen.

“This is perfect,” he says, kissing Cecil’s hand, his wrist. “Lovely turning pages, even lovelier unbuttoning your coat.”

Cecil is squirming at this point and tugs Carlos back up for a long kiss. He’s hard again, and the friction is delicious. “Come now, Carlos, didn’t you have plans for me?”

“Are you positive?”

“ _Yes_ , I’m positive, now come on.”

Carlos shimmies down Cecil’s body and oh yes, this is good too. He presses kisses across Cecil’s lower stomach, trailing to where he needs it, then- avoids it altogether, making Cecil pout. Instead he grips Cecil’s thighs, pushing his legs up and apart. This is…new. Cecil feels exposed again, but not in a bad way this time, in an exciting way.

There’s a drag of tongue on the line where his thigh meets his pelvis, and it’s wonderful and sets Cecil to whining. “Ah, Carlos.” It’s repeated on the other side, a slow, sweet caress and it’s driving him mad. “Please, Carlos, don’t tease me.”

For once Carlos listens and licks up the length of him, flicking the tip of his tongue against the head and Cecil cries out before he can catch himself. Carlos lifts his head, alarmed. “Cecil, you must be quiet. We’re safe for now, but not if we’re loud.”

“Right, right. Just…” He makes a motion with his hands and Carlos goes back, mouth hovering over where he wants it, warm breaths like the softest touch, and oh, it’s nice. “Carlos, I need-”

His hands are warm on Cecil’s thighs. “Can I try something different?”

Cecil nods, making impatient noises, and Carlos flashes him a grin before he presses his legs out and open even wider. The heels of his feet are almost against him, knees pressed tight, and he’s just wondering what on earth this has to do with anything when Carlos leans down, out of sight, and his tongue-

 _Oh_.

Cecil yelps at the quick flash of pleasure, unexpected and new and _what is your tongue doing there_ , and then Carlos is up again, shushing him frantically. “Cecil, I told you, you must be silent!”

“Sorry. Wasn’t…didn’t think…” Carlos is watching him steadily, and Cecil isn’t quite sure _how_ he feels about what he just did, but he knows he wants him to do it again. “Can you please…keep going? I’ll be quieter.”

This time Cecil understands why he’s so exposed, because when Carlos runs his tongue along his- his entrance, it’s…oh my. Oh, _God_. It’s fire and heat and tension coiling inside him, and he bites down on his knuckles to keep from yelling. The area is _wonderfully_ sensitive, even with Carlos only slowly licking across it. Cecil’s panting, breathing heavily through his nose, and he wants to move, to get _more_ but he can’t do anything but lie here and try not to make noise as Carlos slowly takes him apart.

Suddenly Carlos stops and Cecil almost protests because he didn’t even _do_ anything that time. “Cecil, wait,” Carlos says, taking his hand from his mouth. “Good God, you’re going to draw blood.”

“I don’t mind, please, don’t leave me like this.”

“I won’t, just…” Carlos gets off the bed, and Cecil thinks he might cry. Then he’s back, holding one of his ties. “Open.”

Cecil slowly opens his mouth, not quite sure what Carlos is getting at- and then the tie is being carefully pressed into his mouth, with the excess being looped around his head and tied in the back. By the time he gets what’s happening, he’s been efficiently gagged.

“Is this alright?” Carlos asks, testing the tightness of the gag.

Cecil opens and closes his mouth as much as he’s able, makes an exploratory noise or two that come out muffled. It’s…not bad. A little- well, if he’s going to be honest, a little erotic. To be stripped of his voice, to be able to make as much noise as he wants, the way his mouth stretches around the intrusion. It sends little illicit thrills through him, leading straight to his manhood. He finally nods and lets his head fall back against the pillow, tense with anticipation as Carlos settles between his legs.

The tongue is back, and Cecil gives a low groan, pleased when the gag does its job. Again and again Carlos slowly swipes upwards, hands still on his calves keeping him spread and open and oh, it’s lovely. Each lick brings a slow wave of heat crashing over Cecil, making him squirm and whimper. It’s too slow, too much, and he’s so hard already. Then- _ah_ , then Carlos is moving his tongue in circles around the opening and it’s so good, so good. Cecil’s back arches and his hands fist in the sheets, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. He wants to beg for more, for release, but he can’t, and the idea probably shouldn’t be this arousing. All that’s coming out are muffled needy noises, and Carlos seems to like that, because his mouth has a new fervor to it.

Carlos does something _amazing_ with the tip of his tongue and Cecil automatically grabs his hair, trying to drag him closer. This feels- oh, oh God- he wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to pull away and push closer at the same time and _oh his tongue just went inside him_.

It’s _exquisite_ , lights bursting behind his eyes and he _is_ screaming into the gag now, because Carlos’ tongue is hot and wet and stretching him and he never thought this would feel so good, the tug at the edge, the slight burn, and ah- ah! He’s painfully hard, aching and leaking, whimpering and whining into the tie. He’s so ready, but he can’t hit climax, not like this. Carlos curls his tongue inside him and sparks lick up his spine. He yanks Carlos’ hair at the sensation and Carlos hums, the vibrations traveling to where they’re connected. Cecil’s eyes roll back in his head.

It’s Heaven and Hell at the same time, bliss and torture. His teeth dig into the fabric and tears start to gather in the corners of his eyes. He’s so on edge, but despite the arousal roaring through him he can’t reach that peak, can’t find relief. He can’t think, his mind is a blur of _Carlos_ and _wet_ and _hot_ and _deeper_ and _more, oh Lord above, more_.

Finally he can’t take it anymore, can’t _stand_ it, and he moans brokenly, pulling at Carlos’ hair. Carlos takes his mouth away, and Cecil feels empty and cold and so, so needy, which is when Carlos licks a long line up Cecil’s length and he’s coming instantly.

The climax tears through him like a fire, leaving him quaking and shivering with aftershocks even when it’s done. Carlos smiles up at him, looking awfully pleased with himself. The valet picks up a handkerchief from the bedside table and wipes it off before crawling up to Cecil and untying the gag. “Good?”

“Yes,” Cecil says, voice a little rough from screaming, “exceedingly so. Come here.” Apparently the act had quite an effect on Carlos as well because when Cecil reaches into his pants and wraps a hand around him he’s hot and ready. “You liked that as well, hm?”

“Hah,” Carlos gasps ineloquently, “you’re so- ah, so lovely like that- thighs trembling, moaning, lost in bliss- Oh, yes, like that- I feel as if I could spend just watching you.”

“Maybe sometime I’ll see if you can,” Cecil murmurs against Carlos’ ear, and it only takes a few more strokes before Carlos is tensing and coming into his hand.

Cecil drapes his arms over Carlos and the other man curls in closer, their contact fighting off the cold of the room. There’s a moment of peace before Carlos says “Perhaps you should leave. They’ll be looking for you soon.”

It’s an inconvenient fact, but it’s the truth. Still, it’s nice to have Carlos dressing him with the utmost of care, and it’s nice to do it in return. “I wish we could spend the night together after this. Like a legitimate couple.”

“So do I. But we all have crosses to bear, don’t we?”

Cecil doesn’t want to leave his arms- it feels safe here, away from prying eyes and his responsibilities. But he makes himself let go, makes himself open the door and step out. “I suppose we do.”

* * *

 

Sundays are always a bit more relaxed, and Cecil usually has the day to himself once church is out.

He was hoping to get some time out in the garden, maybe do some studying under the oak tree, but one of the servants lightly touches his arm. A younger boy named Paolo. “Sir, your parents request your presence in the drawing room.”

Cecil sighs. “Fine, yes, I- my parents?” Plural?

“Yes, sir. In the drawing room.”

“…Yes, alright. You’re dismissed.” Paolo leaves, and Cecil makes his way to the drawing room on his own time. Paolo probably just meant his mother and misspoke. Probably to question him about Dana again- he has no idea why she’s so insistent he figure out if he wants to marry her right at this moment. He’s young, they have time.

He’s barely touched the drawing room door when a hand lands solidly on his shoulder. “Ah, Cecil. There you are. Thought you might have gotten lost!”

Cecil turns, trying to hide his surprise. “Father. No, I was just…in another part of the house.”

His father stands before him, smiling easily, like it isn’t true that he hasn’t initiated a conversation with him in weeks, like he was actually in the house when Cecil was growing up. “Come now, Cecil, walk with me. I want to tell you a few things.”

Despite the contempt Cecil may feel for the man, he’s still his father, and he still feels a small spark of hope at this. As if they can connect and the past seventeen years won’t matter. “But isn’t mother waiting?”

“Ah, she can wait. We’ll only take a moment.”

Cecil’s father looks a lot like him, if he’s going to be honest about it. He may have gotten his mother’s fair hair and angular features, but his lankiness comes from his father, as well as his striking eyes. It’s like looking in a slightly warped version of his future. He falls into step beside him and they walk outside, into the garden where Cecil had been heading in the first place. “How are your studies?”

“Better,” Cecil says, and he’s a little disappointed in himself when he finds that he still wants to impress his father. “Much better. Mrs. Josie says I’ve made leaps and bounds in Latin.”

“That’s good. Education is what separates man from beast. Or at least us from the niggers, right?”

He laughs and Cecil feels something inside himself cringe, the same part of him that’s been sitting beside Carlos as the dark-skinned man helps him study. “Of course.”

“So, Cecil,” his father says, and the words carry weight. “You’re grown now. About ready to be the man of the house, eh? Your own house, with a little woman of your own. Seems like yesterday you were tearing around with the nanny chasing close behind.”

Cecil doesn’t answer; he isn’t sure what to say in response. The warm breeze feels nice on his face, and he tilts his head to better feel it.

“A few words about women, son…”

The peace is shattered as Cecil’s stomach lurches uncomfortably. Oh, God, no. He doesn’t want to be here, having this conversation, not in this lifetime or the next. “I really don’t think-”

“Come now, there’s a few conversations that need to be had between father and son, and this is one of them.”

Cecil wants to run, to hide, to be alone. His skin is prickling with how uncomfortable he is over this entire situation. His father wants to actually connect for once, and they have to talk about women, a subject Cecil has absolutely no interest in. Not even remotely. He’s struck by the absurdity of it all and has to fight down a smile, remembering the amount of, ahem, _interest_ he had in Carlos the previous afternoon.

“Women,” his father says, dragging him out of the pleasant thoughts of Carlos’ mouth hot on his neck, “are different creatures than us. Delicate, romantic things. Give them the right attention, and they’ll follow you forever.”

Somehow, Cecil can’t picture Dana following him forever. Mostly he can picture her giving him a sharp look before going back to her reading.

“But the thing is, men weren’t made the same as them. Give a woman a home and a child and she’ll be content for life. But not us. We need intellectual stimulation, good company. It goes back to our ancestors, really. Men used to have to fight and hunt to keep food on the table and by God, we still do. Women get the luxury of being taken care of, but we’ve got to take care of them.”

Cecil feels faintly sick. Is this becoming an adult? He’s not quite sure he likes it.

“You take care of your woman, and in return she’s a…a point of stability. She’ll always be there for you with affection. So it’s very important that you allow her to think she’s the most important thing in the world. That’s the center of _her_ world, being important to you. Even if you’ve got pressing engagements elsewhere, or you stray once or twice- she doesn’t have to know. They’re fragile. She’ll all but break if she knows everything- that’s why women don’t get educated. The world of men is just too much for them, you see?”

Cecil keeps his hands clasped behind his back, looking around at the plants by their feet. “Yes, I see.” If you stray once or twice. Bosh. Cecil is fully aware that his father probably has mistresses all over London, but he doesn’t say anything.

“But she mustn’t feel as if you know that she’s fragile. Women enjoy feeling powerful, though they can’t handle most power. That’s why they take such meaning in taking care of children. For a woman, that’s the highest power they can be trusted with. So take care of her, treat her well, but only let her know what she needs to.” He looks over at Cecil, and his expression says that this is one of those valuable moments between father and son, but all Cecil feels is gratitude when they’ve almost looped around the garden, which hopefully means their talk will end.

Cecil settles for a stiff nod. Like he’s going to need this. Like Dana would ever become a simpering waif, only wanting to raise his children and pretend she didn’t notice his affairs.

Apparently his father takes this as an indication that Cecil has absorbed all of the wisdom he’s delivered unto him, and he gives him a smile. “You’re a smart boy, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

They’re inside now, walking back to the drawing room, and Cecil is almost weak with relief. He can’t wait to go find Carlos and tell him all about this ridiculousness. “I think I’ll manage. Thank you, father.”

He enters the drawing room, followed by his father, who shuts the door behind them. His mother is sitting at the table, and her expression is- it’s sad and tight and tragic, almost. Hidden. Carefully hidden, though Cecil can still see. “Cecil.”

“Mother. Is something amiss?”

Cecil’s father sits down next to her and gestures to the chair across the small table. “Have a seat, Cecil. We have some things we need to discuss.”

As Cecil lowers himself into the chair, he can’t shake the feeling that something is horribly, horribly wrong.

* * *

 

It’s quiet upstairs. Of course it is, it’s always quiet upstairs. So quiet in this house. Cecil’s room, however, is _not_ quiet. Carlos is there, humming softly to himself, a little tune as he straightens up. Cecil stands in the doorway, arms wrapped around his torso and watches him, listens to the melody. It’s a very pretty song.

Carlos must feel Cecil watching, because he looks up. He seems surprised, but pleasantly so. “Good afternoon, Cecil. How was church? Did it run long? You’re usually back earlier.”

Cecil doesn’t answer- _can’t_ answer- and Carlos instantly straightens up, alert. “Cecil, what’s wrong?” Cecil still can’t speak, just turns his face away, and in an instant Carlos has hurried over. His hand brushes Cecil’s arm and Cecil flinches away from the touch. “Did something happen?” Carlos asks, carefully keeping his distance now. “Please, Cecil, talk to me.”

For a moment that seems to last forever, Cecil thinks he might be incapable of movement at all. That he’s finally broken at last. Then he forces himself to look up, and Carlos’ worried face is like a dagger in his chest. “Carlos.”

“Yes?”

He almost feels like if he doesn’t say it, then it won’t be real. But it is real. It’s real, and it’s happening, and the reality of it is paralyzing Cecil. “I’m,” his voice breaks, and he has to gather himself. “I’m getting married.”

Carlos just blinks at him, confused. “Someday, probably. Are you just…realizing this now? Because-”

“No, Carlos,” Cecil says, shutting his eyes because he can’t look at him right now. “I’m engaged.”

A long silence. A very long silence. “What?”

“Our parents- mine and Dana’s- basically decided, I suppose…I suppose my family’s situation must be far worse than we guessed. I just- tomorrow I’m supposed to ask officially, but…it’s a formality, at this point.”

Carlos is quiet for so long that Cecil opens his eyes, and the raw pain, the disbelief cuts him down to his very soul. “Cecil, no, that- that can’t be- _no_ -”

“The date’s been set. We’re getting married before the month is out.” He hugs himself tighter, wishing he could vanish on the spot. He turns his head, can’t bear to see Carlos’ face, can’t bear _any_ of this. “There’s nothing I can do. It’s over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm awful.
> 
> Tune in next time when Carlos yells a lot, there's a lot of feelings involved, and they finally have the sex.
> 
> Hey, [my blog](http://floating-cats.tumblr.com) finally got its theme fixed, so feel free to stop by and hang out or talk to me or whatever. I post sneak peeks, talk about fics, reblog a hella ton of Night Vale stuff, and chat with other fans. Now with 30% less venom!


	7. Loss, Lovemaking, and The Promise

_I’m engaged_. The words hang in the air, lingering, stifling. Carlos’ mouth works silently, trying to form words for a situation where there are none. “Cecil. You’re- you’re actually getting married? To Dana?”

Cecil shivers, not even trying to fight back the waves of despair. He can’t. “Yes. I protested, violently. My parents won’t be budged. Oh, god, Carlos, I’m going to be _married_. Within the month.”

Carlos doesn’t say anything for a very long time, and Cecil can’t look at him. He half hopes that he’ll just leave, walk out, and never speak of this again, of any of this, of the happiness that they only got a chance to taste. “Wait,” he finally says, and when Cecil does look up, his eyes are wild. “This doesn’t have to be the end. Dana knows about us. And when you get married, you’ll still need a valet. I can just come with you, and we can still be together. We won’t even have to sneak around, not in our home.”

Cecil shakes his head, bitterness clawing up his throat. “No.”

“No?”

“I can’t, Carlos, please understand. I won’t be like my father. I could never do that to my family. And I might be lenient about the church’s claims on sodomy, but I still hold marriage as a holy sacrament. It’s sacred. I won’t- I won’t break it. I can’t.”

Carlos makes a noise then, broken and disbelieving. “So you’re- you won’t even fight this?”

“I tried Carlos, I truly did. There’s nothing I can do, really-“

Carlos’ hands clench and unclench at his sides. “You’re willing to let this all go for the sake of some _tradition_? For _saving face_? Do you realize we’ve found true love, the kind many would die for, and you’re throwing it away for absolutely _nothing_?”

Cecil wills the sob in his chest not to make its way up. “It’s about more than tradition, Carlos-“

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about my family!” It bursts out of Cecil’s mouth in a shout, and he quickly pulls his voice back, before someone hears. He continues on in a hiss. “I’ll be left destitute and homeless in the gutter, and you’ll end up hanged. I won’t let it happen. I _won’t_. The way I was raised, family comes above all. And…you’re my family too, Carlos. This is the only way my parents won’t end up ashamed and you’ll end up _alive_. I have no other choice.”

Carlos turns on his heel, storming across the room, bracing his hands on the desk. “So I mean nothing?”

“No, Carlos, you mean _everything_.”

“And what am I supposed to do? Would you ask me to forget about you? To pretend this never happened, to forget that I ever loved you?”

“Of course not,” Cecil says, his voice small and defeated. “I wouldn’t ask you to do anything that I could never do.” Carlos looks at him then, and the open emotion there makes Cecil want to sink to his knees. “And I won’t, Carlos. I won’t ever forget you. Every time I kiss my wife, every time I’m with her, every time someone speaks of love- it will be you, you in my head, you against my lips- it will _always_ be you.”

His voice breaks, and he presses a hand against his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. He isn’t going to cry. He won’t. But the sob he was holding back finds its way out past his hand and he curls up on himself, like if he makes himself small enough the grief can’t get to him.

Carlos is at his side then, cupping his face and pulling him to his chest. “Oh. Oh, Cecil. I’m so sorry, I didn’t consider that you’re the one who actually has to go through with this.”

Cecil allows himself to collapse against Carlos’ chest, taking in deep, shuddering breaths. Everything hurts, and he just doesn’t want to _feel_ anymore. “I love you,” he says fiercely. Like if he’s assertive enough, it will nullify everything that just happened. “I love you so much, Carlos. If I could leave everything behind and run off with you, I would. I would.”

“I won’t ask you to,” Carlos says, his lips brushing Cecil’s ear.

“I love you.” Cecil’s hands fist in Carlos’ shirt. “More than anything. More than life.”

“Cecil,” Carlos says, holding him closer, as if they can become one. “What can I do for you?”

Cecil mouths absently at the exposed junction between Carlos’ neck and shoulder. “Make love to me.” Carlos’ hold on him tightens a little, and Cecil can feel his breathing. “I want you to be the first one to know me like this. I want to give this to you. Please, Carlos.”

In response, Carlos tips his face up and kisses him. It’s long, and deep, and Cecil can feel it all the way to his toes. “Come to bed.”

Cecil climbs up on his bed and Carlos kneels beside him, smoothing over his body with eyes and hands. Cecil feels loved, cherished, and he knows that Carlos is doing the same thing that he is: he’s memorizing the feel of Cecil in the very likely case that this is the only time they will ever be able to touch like this.

“Do we have time?” Carlos asks, slowly unbuttoning Cecil’s vest. It comes off and he spends several long moments tracing shapes over Cecil’s torso. Through the fabric of his shirt, the touches are even more weighted. “I would rather not rush this.”

“My parents will leave me alone,” Cecil says, reaching up to tangle a hand in Carlos’ hair. “I did just get engaged. They’ll give me my privacy, at least for tonight.”

“Don’t think about that,” Carlos murmurs, slipping off Cecil’s shirt and moving to lie beside him. They kiss slowly, languidly, clothes shedding like yesterdays past.

“Then what should I think of?”

“Us. Here.” His hands are skating across the planes of Cecil’s stomach, following the lines of his bones. “Think of you and I. Think that this is our wedding night, and this is our marriage bed in our own home.”

Cecil smiles weakly. “Was the ceremony beautiful?”

“More beautiful than words can describe. There were marigolds and lilies practically dripping from every surface. The band sounded more like a group of angels, come down from Heaven just to play their harps for us. But I didn’t bother with any of that. My attention was on you, solely you, and how I can’t believe that I am blessed enough to have you be mine.”

His fingers brush against the dip in Cecil’s hipbones and his breathing hitches, hips pressing up into the touch. “And- oh- and after the honeymoon?”

“We go somewhere far away from here where nobody will judge us. Where we can declare our love in public and we’ll get congratulations, not condemnations.”

He sucks a bruise onto Cecil’s neck, and Cecil can feel it forming. He only wishes that it won’t fade, that he’ll have evidence of Carlos’ love on his body forever. “Somewhere so far that nobody we know could ever find us,” he breathes, voice shaking. “Somewhere that doesn’t show up on maps.”

Carlos ghosts across his hipbones again and Cecil moans. “Sensitive?”

“Y-Yes.” Carlos smiles against Cecil’s neck and presses firmly in the hollows, rubbing small circles. It’s an erogenous zone that Cecil didn’t even know he had, and it’s got him panting, trembling with want. “Oh, Carlos, that’s- _oh God_ , that’s good. Keep- _yes_.” He’s already getting hard but he doesn’t want this to be over quickly. He wants it to last and last, maybe forever. He wants this feeling to sear itself into his bones, so that he won’t ever lose it.

Finally, when he’s decided that Cecil is enough of a shivering mess, Carlos takes his hands away. He kisses Cecil deeply, then moves down his body and flicks his tongue into one of the dips, pulling a cry from Cecil. He bites down on the noise before it leaves his mouth, because while they may have privacy, he can’t afford to attract any attention to the room. To be found now, to lose Carlos again- it would break his heart. He is sure that he’d die, right there.

As Carlos takes Cecil’s cock into his mouth, Cecil reflects that he never seems to tire of exploring Cecil’s body, finding new ways to make him fall apart. And now, just as they’re getting started, they’re going to lose it forever. The thought is crushing and Cecil feels tears stringing at the corner of his eyes. He tugs at Carlos’ hair. “Come up here, please. I need- you’re too far away.”

Carlos crawls back up and cups Cecil’s face, looking concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Just stay here,” he whispers, tugging at Carlos’ pants. He takes the hint and slips out of them, leaving nothing between them but everything that they will never get the chance to say. “Stay with me.”

“Always,” Carlos promises, pulling Cecil into his arms. “Forever.”

It’s skin on skin, lighting a desire deep in his stomach and deeper in his chest. It feels different, this time, when Carlos presses a thigh between his own, or when his hand slides up the small of Cecil’s back. There’s a level of anticipation, this feeling that it’s leading to something more.

Carlos reaches down between them and takes both of their cocks in hand, pressing them together. It’s another thing that Cecil had no idea he wanted until he felt it, and he’s keening into Carlos’ shoulder as the other man slowly rocks his hips, creating a sweet friction that makes Cecil’s toes curl. “ _Carlos_ , yes.”

Cecil thrusts into Carlos’ hand and now it’s the other man’s turn to gasp. “Cecil, good God. Do you have any idea the things you do to me?”

Cecil lets out a shuddering breath. “I can only hope that it’s half the things that you do to me, my Carlos.”

“I love you.” Cecil feels the words against his skin more than he hears them. “Please never forget that.”

“Never,” Cecil breathes, all heat and want and love. “I’ll remember until my dying day. Even past that.” He makes a choking noise as Carlos thrusts against him again. “Please, Carlos, I’m close. I don’t-” He shuts his eyes. This is all so intense- not the physical sensations themselves, but the sheer overwhelming amount of love he has for Carlos, and the amount it’s being returned by him. It’s terrifying, and Cecil is fairly sure one person cannot contain this much emotion. He can’t even begin to think of how badly it’s going to hurt to lose Carlos or he feels himself tipping toward something alarmingly close to madness.

“Would you look at me?” At the request, Cecil opens his eyes, and there’s Carlos, expression caring and lustful but defeated and Cecil wants to close his eyes again but Carlos has asked him not to, so he doesn’t. “I’ll take care of you.”

Carlos leans away and Cecil has an abrupt panicked thought that he’s leaving him, that he’s just going to walk away and Cecil will never know love again in his life. But he only reaches for the unlit candle on the bedside table, snapping off a part of it and warming the tallow in his hands. Cecil props himself up on his elbows and watches as the tallow softens into a waxy, slick substance that Carlos uses to coat three of his fingers. He’s a little nervous as to what Carlos plans to do with that, but then Carlos is pressing him back down and kissing him so sweetly that Cecil can’t find it in himself to ask.

One of Carlos’ tallow-slick fingers brushes against his entrance and Cecil gasps into the kiss. It slips inside easily and feels- well, Cecil isn’t sure about that. Strange, mostly. Then there’s a second finger and Cecil’s hips tilt up involuntarily. Carlos is kissing the curve of his neck and scissoring the fingers inside of him and Cecil is tilting his head back and whining because the stretch and movement is nice, a burning pleasurepain swirling down low. “C- ah, Carlos.”

Another finger, and the sensations within him are warring, making him arch and squirm. He’s rocking down against Carlos’ hand, desperate for more. “So tight, love,” Carlos sighs, kissing his shoulder now. Cecil imagines that his lips are like brands, leaving his mark all over Cecil’s body and- and-

Carlos’ hand twists just so and Cecil’s frame jolts like he’s been struck with electricity. There’s a white-hot lick of pleasure racing up his spine and he wants to wail, wants to push Carlos down and demand more of whatever that was. He thought that it was Heaven before when Carlos had used his tongue down there, but this is even more divine. “Oh my _stars_ , Carlos, I- h-hah- again, please, _again_.”

Carlos grins wickedly. “That’s the spot, hm?” He starts sliding his fingers in and out, in and out, stretching Cecil as he does so. It burns a little, but the teasing brush of each push in against that magic spot is enough to make Cecil not care.

Cecil’s hands are fisted in the sheets, mouth open in a silent cry as Carlos gives him not even close to enough of what he needs. He’s nearly sobbing, legs parted wantonly. “Carlos, my dear, my darling, my dove, I need you. _Please_.”

“Patience, love. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me, w-wreck me, des- _yes there-_ destroy me. I don’t care. Just- aah- give me more!”

Carlos removes his fingers completely and Cecil makes a broken noise. “Don’t fret. I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

“I’d be more inclined to believe it if you returned your hand to where it was.”

Deft hands are arranging Cecil’s legs, pushing them up and apart, leaving him exposed the way he was when Carlos used his tongue, and the anticipation leaves Cecil breathless. “I’ll give you something better. Now, tell me if it’s too much.”

Cecil nods eagerly. Carlos leans down and kisses him, softly and almost chastely, and it feels more intimate than anything else they’ve done so far. Then he lines his hips up and presses in. Cecil’s breath catches in his chest and his eyes go wide. There’s still some pain but it’s not unbearable and he feels so full that it’s just this side of overwhelming. He lets out a low moan because it’s absolutely _exquisite_.

Carlos stills once he’s completely inside him, resting his forehead against Cecil’s, arms looping around his chest to hold him close. After a few breaths he says, almost under his breath, “Yo no sé qué haría sin ti. Tú te has convertido en mi mundo completo, y creo que el perderte... me mataría.”

Cecil runs a hand through Carlos’ hair. “What are you saying?”

“Sweet nothings,” he murmurs, but by the look on his face Cecil can tell that’s not true. He doesn’t press it, though, just kisses Carlos and whines when he pulls out, only to slide back in. It’s good. It’s so good. Cecil thinks he has an ocean inside of him, filling him up, and he can’t possibly contain it.

Carlos starts a slow, sensual slide with his hips. There’s no abrupt thrusting, but a gentle in and out, cresting and ebbing like the flow of the tides. “Carlos,” Cecil says, grabbing out blindly. Carlos catches his hands, laces their fingers together, and presses them on either side of Cecil’s head. The angle this puts them at is fantastic and Cecil has to muffle a moan in the pillow.

“I wish I could hear you.” Carlos is in him slow but deep and so good. With each push in Cecil can feel the tingling all the way through his limbs, and with each pull out, his hips rise in an effort to get more stimulation. “I wish I could have you screaming and moaning the way I know you want to. I wish I could have you somewhere where we could make love with all the wild passion and desire that I feel for you.”

Cecil’s knees are weak and his legs are trembling, and he wants wants wants more than he’s ever wanted anything before. “I need you,” he gasps, “like I need air itself. I want to take you into my lungs and feel you in my blood.”

The next thrust brushes by that sweet spot and Cecil’s back bows so hard he thinks he might snap. “ _Carlos!_ ”

In response, Carlos’ movement changes from a gentle rocking to a definite thrusting, almost a pounding motion. His hands are still holding Cecil’s and he leans down to kiss him as the pace picks up, harder and harder and _yes Carlos oh God harder._

Cecil is mewling, arching and writhing because it feels so good he’s sure he’s going to die. He doesn’t even care because he’s found Heaven, right here, just like this.

Carlos rests his forehead against Cecil’s, looking into his eyes. Cecil swears that in that stare, there’s something more than them connecting. Something deeper. Perhaps their souls are meeting, intertwining, becoming something that can never be separated. Carlos shudders, like he feels it too. “I love you.”

Cecil jerks as Carlos hits the spot dead on. “I love you too. I’ll always love you.”

“Forever?”

“Until time itself stops.”

Carlos hips snap in, hard, and Cecil’s head falls back, mouth gaping. Carlos buries his face in Cecil’s neck and pushes, claims, gives, fast and deep and exactly what Cecil needs. Cecil can feel it rising in him, and oh, he’s about to burst into flames, surely. His cock is aching but he doesn’t want to let go of Carlos’ hands enough to touch it.

“Carlos, ah- yes, yes, _yes_.” He is nothing but starlight and sensation and love.  He’s spiraling down, out of control, and he doesn’t know which way is up. “I- ah-h- _yes_ , yes, _Carlos!”_

He cries out as blinding white obscures his vision and he climaxes, entire body consumed by it. Carlos keeps thrusting, making his orgasm last and last until finally he whispers Cecil’s name like a prayer and stills, buried deep.

The afterward is like drifting in a bubble. Everything is warm and safe and as far as Cecil is convinced, they never need to move. Ever. Carlos slides out of him and he feels uncomfortably empty, at least until Carlos’ arms wind around him, holding him close. Cecil splays a hand out against Carlos’ bare chest. “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” he says distantly.

Carlos strokes Cecil’s hair and Cecil presses his head up into the touch like a needy cat. “My parents came here from Puerto Rico. They tried to raise us all in English, but we all ended up speaking Spanish anyway.”

“You and your siblings?” Carlos nods. “But you don’t have an accent.”

Carlos shrugs. “I was a precocious child. I learned early on that if I wanted anything better, I had to lose any trace of the language. Or any trace of Puerto Rico, really. Don’t you remember when we were young and I’d get excited and start to roll my r’s?”

Cecil thinks, propping his head on Carlos’ bicep. “And the head maid would clip you sharply upside the head.”

“Mhmm.”

He looks up at Carlos. How is it that Carlos knows everything about him, and he knows so little in return? “Does it upset you? Growing up and having to forget your heritage.”

Carlos traces circles over the back of Cecil’s hand. “It’s not a good feeling.”

For a moment, Cecil just enjoys the feel of Carlos’ fingertips skating across his hand. “Will you teach me some Spanish later? I’d like to have something from you to keep with me always. Something that nobody can take away.”

“Something from me- oh, that reminds me.” Carlos sits up and Cecil makes a dissatisfied noise. “Your birthday was three days ago, wasn’t it?”

Cecil blinks at him. With all the hustle and bustle going on lately, he’d completely forgotten his own birthday. “Yes, I suppose- yes, it was.” He’s eighteen now. His parents hadn’t remembered either. He’s actually grateful. No doubt they would have insisted on throwing some grand soiree, and Cecil doesn’t quite feel up to socialization right now. He almost doesn’t care that he’s another year older. What does it matter? Seventeen will always mark his last, blessed year with Carlos, and eighteen will always mark the end of it.

“I got you something,” Carlos says, leaning down and fishing in his clothes.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did. It’s as much for me as it is for you.” He comes back up, holding- a necklace?

Cecil takes it from him, holding onto the string and watching the small silver hoop swinging from the end of it. It’s almost hypnotic. “It’s a promise ring,” Carlos says softly. “I’ve heard that sometimes lovers will give these as a courting gift. It’s not a proposal, but a- a promise that proposal will follow eventually. I thought you could wear it around your neck, under your clothes, and remember me.”

“Do you recall,” Cecil says softly, still staring at the ring, “what we were discussing before I kissed you for the first time?”

“You were concerned about the expectation for you to marry. I told you to marry for love.”

Cecil turns the ring over in his hands, and simply says, “I do.”

Carlos takes it from him and loops the rope around his neck. The metal is warm against his skin from the heat of Carlos’ hand. “Until death do us part.”

He reaches up and catches Carlos’ hands, twining their fingers together. “Not even then. If we are to be damned to Hell for loving each other, I don’t even mind, so long as I might go hand in hand with you. Then it wouldn’t be Hell at all; it would be our own Heaven.”

Carlos’ thumb rubs thoughtful circles on Cecil’s hand. “I don’t think I should like to go to Hell. We might see your father there.”

Hysterical giggles bubble out of Cecil’s throat and after a second, Carlos chortles as well. They huddle together in helpless laughter. Cecil thought he would never laugh again after what happened today, but here he is. Carlos has that effect on him.

Their laughter trails off into a comfortable silence as Cecil combs his hand through Carlos’ hair. Outside the afternoon turns to a dusky twilight, tones of soft purple descending on the house. Tomorrow Cecil will rise early, dress in his best, and go propose to Dana. This time tomorrow, he’ll have a fiancée. Months from now, he’ll be living on his own with her and he’ll never see Carlos again.

As if by some cruel trick of the universe, that’s when Carlos chooses to kiss Cecil on the forehead and climb out of bed. “I should be going.”

Cecil sits up. “Why? Can’t you stay?”

“You know what will happen if I’m found here,” Carlos says matter-of-factly, pulling on his pants.

The tears Cecil has been holding back all night come roaring back up with a vengeance. He tries to swallow them down again, but to no avail. Before he can stop it, he’s weeping into his blankets, gasping for air between sobs. “What does it matter?” he warbles. “They’ve won, I’ll never see you again, never hold you- what does it matter anymore?”

There are warm hands on his face, pulling him out of the sheets so he can face Carlos, who carefully cradles him to his chest as he cries. “Cecil. Oh, Cecil. It’s alright. I’ve got you. It’s alright.”

“It’s not alright, and you know it isn’t.”

He can feel Carlos’ sigh. “You’re right, it isn’t. But- Cecil, do you love me?”

It’s an absurd question, and Cecil has to pull away to look Carlos in the eye. “Of course. With every part of my being.”

“Will you ever stop loving me?”

“Not until the moon falls from the sky.”

“Then they haven’t won, have they?” Carlos asks, wiping away the tear tracks on Cecil’s face. “Not really. As long as you love me, and I love you, they can never truly win.”

“It’s a small consolation.”

Carlos looks- oh, he looks like he’s trying to hard not to show how defeated he feels, and it’s heartbreaking. “Yes, but it’s the only one we have.”

“Can’t you stay for a bit longer?” Cecil pleads.

“I…” Carlos bites his lip and looks toward the door. “Fine,” he finally concedes, climbing back into bed with Cecil. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

Cecil curls around him, the closeness keeping the despair at bay, at least for now. “Will you be here when I wake?”

“I’ll try my best.”

He’s exhausted from everything that’s happened and though he wants to stay awake and savor lying here with Carlos, sleep overtakes him far earlier than he’d like it to. He drifts off with a heavy heart.

* * *

 

He is shaken awake.

“Hm?” he groans, rubbing his eyes. “What’s…”

Carlos is standing there, wild-eyed. “Cecil. Get up and dressed. Hurry.”

That snaps him out of sleep and he sits up, concerned. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Dana,” Carlos says, nearly throwing Cecil’s clothes at him. “She’s vanished. They expect the worst.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back? Back again?
> 
> Tune in next time for more crushing guilt, some Dana talk, and the appearance of Earl Harlan.
> 
> I have a WTNV/fic blog [here](http://floating-cats.tumblr.com), where I post my stories, sneak peaks, a ton of fanart, and recently, yell about Kevin a lot. You should come by and get me to write the next chapter in less than six months this time. Yeah.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Not an unhappy ending](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6493075) by [M_Moonshade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/M_Moonshade)




End file.
